


Till Only The Music Remained

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Forever Knight
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-30
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Forever Knight/Angel crossover. Set in the interim between Season 3 and Season 4 of “Angel.” Detective Nicholas Knight discovers a unique young man disheveled and beaten in an alley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/12

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

~*~*~

Author’s notes: Let me start by saying, in my opinion, these two genres are normally incompatible. Although, I find both, “Angel” and “Forever Knight” to be wonderful series in their own right, the basic premise of each is quite different. (Not to mention the little issue of timelines. The one series having ended in 1996.) But for the sake of bringing these two amazing characters together. Two men who I can’t help but feel have a great deal in common. I have suspended my reservations concerning the differences between the two series and just went for it. Set in the interim between Season 3 and Season 4 of, “Angel,” it’s told from Nick Knight’s perspective and so it leans more toward the, “Forever Knight” view of reality than that of the, “Angel” universe. (Complete with the FK obligatory “back story” set in 1787.) Pain is a universal language that knows no time or place. 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Domestic violence.

Detective Tracy Vetter would never understand such things. Her relationship with her father, Commissioner Vetter, was extraordinary in its unique closeness. Detective Nick Knight could see the lack of affinity in the young woman’s eyes as the interrogation wore on into the night…

The young man sat in defiant silence, his eyes fixed obstinately on the two-way mirror. Vetter bit her lip in frustration and opened her mouth to speak when Knight interrupted.

“Robert,” He leaned near; his eyes passed over the boy’s face. Young. Too young to be so hardened by life. Fifteen years old. “Your father was found dead, two bullet holes to the head. Forensics reports a .38 caliber at close range did the deed, and lab reports negative on prints. You’ve got to cooperate with this investigation unless you want to be considered a suspect.”

“The bastard got what he deserved.” His dark eyes filled with loathing. “Someone did society a favor. That’s all I know.”

“You may wish to have your attorney present.”

“Yeah, like I got me a big fancy lawyer. Don’t want one, don’t need one.”

“He was your *father*.” Vetter responded in outrage. “How can you be so cold?”

“You don’t know nothin’, lady,” Robert hissed, venting his anger in her direction.

“You and your father didn’t get along, I take it.” Knight continued, in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

“That’s the understatement of the decade. Unlike little primrose-butt, here,” he shot a glare in Vetter’s direction. “Life at the Jenson’s wasn’t a rerun of, ‘Father Knows Best.’”

“The two of you…fought?”

“So, what of it? My old man, he drank a lot. The old woman’s dead. Guess he needed a new punchin’ bag.”

“He hit you?”

Robert rolled his eyes skyward and quipped. “Heaven’s no. Whatever gave you such an outlandish idea?” He snorted with indignation. “*Pulverized* is more like it. First it was the homework thing, you know. Then the late-night thing with my friends. Then it was…” The kid shrugged. “Who knows. You tell me, hot shot.”

The detective dipped his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Listen--”

“No, you listen. The bum’s dead and I’m glad. You hear me, I’m glad! Night after night he beat the crap outa me. You don’t know shit about--”

“You don’t know what I do and don’t know!” He grabbed the boy in a sudden flash of anger that stunned the youth coming from a man whose demeanor had seemed almost serene until this moment. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

The young man swallowed hard, taken by surprise by the venom in Knight’s tone. “You can’t possible know what it’s like…” His eyes filled with pain and his voice broke.

“Don’t bet on it.”

“It wasn’t the beatin’.” Robert pulled in his breath; his eyes fell into Knight’s intense blue gaze. “It wasn’t that, at all…” He dropped his head.

Vetter moved near, intrigued by the turn of events, the youth’s sudden submission, the intensity of longing in her partner’s gaze.

“I know,” Nick whispered.

“He was supposed to *love* me.” The words ripped from the boy’s soul. “He was my *father*….”

Knight turned and gazed toward the smoked glass separating the interrogation room from the observation room where he knew Wesley Wyndam-Pryce stood watching the exchange. “I know,” he breathed and sank to the chair next to the young man. “Fathers should love their sons…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

*Three days earlier…*

 

Detective Nick Knight found him in an alley where he lay crumbled in a heap.

The man was beaten and bloodied, a gash on his forehead had rendered him unconscious, but the steady beat of the man’s strong heart told the centuries old vampire that the stranger was in little danger of dying from his injuries. Darkness cloaked the alleyway, but Knight’s extraordinary vision allowed him to quickly ascertain the man’s appearance. Young, by a vampire’s standards, mid-thirties perhaps, quite tall, taller than Knight, and abnormally thin, almost gaunt, his cheekbones prominent in his pale, unshaven face. He was casually dressed in black jeans and a dark blue shirt, but although he was disheveled, there was not an air of destitution about the man. Even though he lay unconscious, battered and clearly unkempt from what appeared to be days of disregard to personal hygiene, there was a sense of power and refinement in the crumbled, lanky form that Nick’s finely tuned senses could easily identify.

This man was not a vagrant.

Carefully, he turned the man over and searched his pockets, checking for the wallet he hoped he would find. All the while, examining the stranger for further injuries. The man’s heart was strong and aside from the gash to his forehead he seemed fine. Knight’s eyes did catch a raw, unsightly scar that ran jaggedly down the left side of the man’s stubble covered throat. He grimaced. Near fatal from the looks of it, and dangerously close to the main artery that even now pumped the man’s vital life-force though his veins, the steady rhythm pulsing gently, enticingly, in the subtle light that filtered down the alleyway. 

Nick Knight swallowed hard and forced his eyes away from the soft white throat that beckoned to him. Forced his thoughts away from the heady musk of the salt and sweat that rose from the man….

He sat back on his haunches. Having found no wallet, he needed to phone this in. Let the precinct handle it. His shift was over and it would be morning soon. He glanced up toward the slightly tinted purple sky that whispered to him of the imminence of dawn that only one of his kind could sense, then back to the unconscious man with the strangely tempting scar. Detective Knight swallowed again…

What was it about this unconscious stranger that compelled him? Certainly the vampire had seen such wounds over the centuries, though not often on men who’d survived such brutality, but something about this thin, pale form with the pulsating scar drew him closer… 

…Something.

The blood, perhaps? All human blood was not the same, and the older a vampire was, the more finely tuned he became to the bouquet of fragrances that enticed the senses, inflaming the need within his chest. No two humans were alike; each essence was uniquely difference, some far more compelling than others. This one spoke to him of power and need, a bewildering contradiction of aromas that compelled him closer…

…and closer still.

His eyes locked on the steady rhythm of the throbbing scar, angry and red in the gloom.

Knight leaned near…

And felt the unmistakable stab of a stake pressed against his chest.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Don’t even consider it.”

The words were smooth, spoken with a clearly defined English accent. European English. Gray-blue eyes bore into Knight, unflinching, as an unwavering hand pressed the wooden implement against the leather of Nick’s jacket, mere seconds from forever stilling his unbeating heart. This *was* an unexpected development.

The detective froze.

Their eyes locked in the silence that fell between the two men. One, slumped against the pavement, blood trickling from the gash on his forehead, the stake poised against the vampire’s heart. The other, contemplating his imminent mortality after centuries of wandering, searching for redemption and his elusive humanity. Knight suddenly found his predicament ironic. That he should meet his ultimate demise here in a dark, dingy alleyway at the resourceful hands of a bewildering stranger whom he sought to aid. 

Wouldn’t LaCroix be amused.

Or perhaps not.

No matter. As Knight stared into the quiet resolve of the blue eyes that bore into his without the least hint of fear or astonishment that he’d been approached by a vampire in this darkened alley in the streets of Toronto, he briefly considered closing his eyes and accepting the inevitable. Finally an end to his eternal struggle. The torment. His just deserts for a life ill-lived.

He closed his eyes….

Seconds passed and nothing happened.

Slowly he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the face of the stranger who sat watching him with a bewildered frown on his rugged face. The Englishman pushed himself to a sitting position and slumped against the brick façade of the building behind him, the stake still pressed firmly against the vampire’s chest. Knight’s lack of aggression clearly confused the man and he seemed at a sudden loss as to whether or not to plunge the weapon home.

What sort of a man carried such a weapon on his person, anyway? Knight wondered briefly, before once again steadying himself for the inevitable. He pressed his chest closer to the mortal. Accepting death.

Would death welcome its dark knight with open arms, having been denied its prize for centuries?

The Englishman faltered and his hand trembled. A trickle of blood dripped into his eyes and he blinked then shook his head and tried to regain his focus. Consciousness was waning, but he held the stake in a death grip against the vampire’s chest. He drew a ragged breath, gathered his dwindling strength and started to push….

Then slumped forward….

The weapon fell from his fingers and clamored to the pavement.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The mortal slept for hours. Exhausted. Grungy and covered in grime from the streets and what Knight assumed was the dust from days of travel on the road, the younger man was battered but otherwise in rather good shape considering the fact that apparently he was the victim of a mugging. His wallet was definitely missing and with it, all means of identification. Still, rather than delivering him to the emergency room or contacting the precinct, as was Knight’s first impulse, he surprised himself by gathering the curious young man into his arms along with a pair of slightly bent wire-rimed spectacles he found laying nearby and carrying the man back to his loft and settling him into his bed, tugging off his dusty boots, respectful of Nick’s expensive satin sheets, and covering him with a blanket.

A brief examination of the man’s leather jacket revealed another carefully concealed stake as well as a small silver cross but not much else. His assailants had apparently found neither of these items the least bit appealing. But to Knight they were the two most curious items the man could possibly be carrying.

Clearly this stranger knew of the existence of vampires and was ready and able to defend himself against them.

Did the Enforces know of this man’s presence in Toronto? If not, why not? And if so, was the man safe?

His eyes traveled to the man lying quietly in his bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin was pale and stark beneath days of dark stubble on his unshaven cheeks. The gash in his forehead was angry and red, but now it had dried and was already beginning to heal. He would probably be sore for days gauging from the many darkening bruises his assailants had seen fit to inflict upon him, but he was otherwise unhurt and nothing appeared broken. Fatigue, lack of food and the bump on his head contributed to his fainting spell, but he appeared intact.

His face was gaunt, his cheekbones prominent as if he hadn’t eaten in some time. But he didn’t have the air of a destitute man, nor that of an itinerate. Knight could sense such things after years of having studied mortals. Even when he was alive, Nick could tell a man of upper-class birth even beneath days of grime. He, himself, was born of nobility and blood could always tell blood.

Who was this stranger?

His eyes traveled to the intriguing scar glaring against the man’s tender throat. He swallowed hard and drew an unneeded breath into his lungs. The essence of the man filled his nostrils. The dried crust of the man’s blood beckoned to him, enticing him in a way he hadn’t felt tempted in quite some time. What was it about this stranger’s blood that called to him? He shook his head to clear it and stumbled back from the sleeping form. He hadn’t relapsed in months… hadn’t been tempted by human blood. Why here? Why now? 

Knight swept from the room and headed downstairs to the small kitchenette and the bottled cow’s blood he stocked in his refrigerator. Uncapping the bottle, he brought it to his lips with trembling hands and drank deeply.


	2. 2/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

A pair of gray-blue eyes studied Knight with a mingling of surprise and trepidation when the man finally awoke and stumbled down the stairs to find the detective lounging idly on a black leather sofa, a wine glass in hand, gentle music playing in the background. The stranger appeared calm; the expression on his rugged face, hard and unrevealing, but Knight could sense the emotions rolling off him in waves. The rapid beating of his strong heart, the erratic pulse of blood beneath the pink scar on his throat.

“What the hell is this all about? Why have you brought me here and who the bloody hell are you?”

“You’re welcome,” Knight responded smoothly and slightly raised his glass in the man’s direction. “I don’t usually stock actual wine in the fridge, but I do have a few beers. You’re welcome to have one if you’d like while we’re waiting for the pizza to arrive. Can’t stand the stuff, myself. The garlic’s atrocious, but I thought you’d be hungry, so I took the liberty of ordering one.”

“I asked you a question. Why the hell have you brought me here?” He demanded. “I think it’s only fair to warn you, I’m not in the mood for games. I know what you are and I’m fully capable of defending myself against you. So you’ve made a grievous error by not killing me in the alley when you had the chance.”

“I’m not playing any games, Mr.…. Mr. whatever your name is. I’m Detective Nick Knight and I found you beaten senseless in the alley outside my apartment building. This isn’t the best part of town for a stranger to be wandering around in at night. As you’ve no doubt discovered. I brought you home and put you into bed.” His eyes passed slowly over the stranger’s disheveled clothes, coming to rest on his bare feet, then back up to search his angry face. The man’s eyes darkened to indigo with a seething rage. “You’re welcome to use my shower if you wish, but I seriously doubt that any of my jeans would fit you. I have a few shirts--”

“*Detective*?” The man hissed. “What sort of fool do you take me for? I know that you’re a--”

“Vampire,” Nick interrupted softly. “Yes and I find that more than curious. It’s why I brought you here, in fact. How is it that you know of our existence? Who are you and what brought you to Toronto? You’re in danger, you know.”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” the man repeated, his thin but trained body tense and ready to spring toward the vampire who sat calmly sipping from the glass in his hand. The man might have appeared frail to a casual observer, but Knight could sense the well-honed instincts of a fighter lingering beneath the fragile surface, and a seething anger that only the spilling of blood would quench. 

“I brought you here for your own good.” He responded quietly. “I saw no reason to kill you. Besides, I haven’t killed an innocent man in over a hundred years. Why should I blemish that record with your life?’

A frown creased the man’s brow and slowly he moved closer to the sofa. “A century? Surely you jest.”

He slowly shook his head and took another sip from his glass then held it toward the light and reflectively studied its contents. “*Vin de bovine*,” he breathed. “Utterly atrocious, actually, but it beats the shit out of rat’s blood.”

The stranger cringed and moved a step closer. “You drink from the blood of cows? Fascinating. And rats, you say? But this is absolutely amazing. How? Why? What compels you to avoid the consumption of human blood? It’s your instinct to…”

“Is the pursuit of redemption a concept too unbelievable for you to grasp? That I should desire such a thing?”

The air rushed from the man’s lungs and for a moment Knight thought he was going to collapse again, and he might have done so had he not grabbed the back of a chair. He stood on unsteady legs and regarded the vampire is if he thought his confession was insane. “Redemption?” The word fell from his astonished lips.

“Yes. I’ve been seeking atonement for over a hundred years. I want to…become human, again.”

This time the man did collapse and he would have struck the hardwood floor but Knight sprang from the sofa and caught the gangly stranger as his legs gave way beneath him, supported his weight and delivered him to the sofa even as the call button announced the arrival of the pizza deliveryman. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Good lord, this is a nightmare.” The man dropped his face into his hands, legs spread wide in a less than refined stance, his elbows propped on his knees and his face hidden in his palms. “I traveled over a thousand miles to escape my past. I hopped on my bike and began riding into the sunrise, chasing it as far as I could, trying to leave it all behind. The whole bloody mess. When the council sacked me, I headed West, but this time…. this time I drove into the sun.” He sighed deeply, his face in his hands. “God, I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Is this the PTB’s idea of a celestial joke? I escape the violence of the streets of L.A. Come all the way to Toronto and get jumped by a gang of hooligans who steal my bike, and I’m rescued by a soddin’ vampire who wants to be human! Why don’t you just shoot me now and be done with it!”

Knight frowned and joined the visibly shaken mortal, shoving an opened beer into his hand and gingerly pushing the unopened pizza box that lay on the coffee table closer to the painfully thin guy, hoping he’d take the hint. The garlic stank to high heaven, but Nick knew the man needed to eat. He watched as the man took a deep swig of the beer with trembling hands. “You say that you’re from L.A? That is a bit ironic when you consider the discrepancy between crime rates that you should end up getting rolled for your bike in Toronto of all places. You’ll need to report it--”

“It’s not the damn bike!” the man snapped, taking another long drink. “It’s another bleeding vampire. God, I’m cursed! I never even imagined there might be another vampire who wanted to become human. How’s that possible? Angel’s the only souled vampire the council’s aware of.”

“What did you say?” Knight gasped. “Another vampire? You know another vampire who wants to become human? Who the hell are you, anyway? Are you a Resister? Do the Enforces know you’re here?”

“Wait a minute.” The man took a much-needed breath and steadied his nerves. “I don’t know about these Enforcers of yours and I don’t know what a Resister is, but I was a Watcher with the council for years…”

“A Watcher?” Slowly the realization dawned on Knight. He hadn’t encountered a genuine Watcher in decades. He knew of their existence. But for the most part, the council that had been around in one form or another for thousands of years, remained surprisingly ignorant concerning the existence of the more antiquated members of his community. Devoting most of their efforts and attentions on younger, more impetuous vampires, they seemed to have forgotten the older creatures even existed. Most slipped benignly into obscurity beneath the probe of their unsuspecting noses. Knight, himself, had not been studied or approached in well over a century. “So you’re a Watcher?” he said softly.

“*Was* a Watcher.” The man’s eyes hardened. “As I said, I was sacked. Several years ago, in fact. I had a rather unfortunate experience with a somewhat impetuous Slayer. Although, truth be told, I was hardly suited for the task. I left Sunnydale, headed out to L.A. and became a private investigator.”

“And met a vampire who wanted to become human?”

He dropped his face into his hands and sighed. “Good lord, tell me this isn’t happening.”

Knight dared to rest his hand against the man’s shoulder and was surprised when the stranger didn’t pull away. “Buddy, you really need to eat. Then we’ll get you cleaned up and report your bike stolen. I’m assuming you have a name?”

The man nodded without raising his head. “Wyndam-Pryce. Wesley.” He drew a deep soul-filled sigh and repeated softly, “My name’s Wesley. And when I wake up, I just know that I’m going to be passed out in a stupor on my sofa, recovering from some ghastly hangover, and kicking myself for downing one too many shots at the pub.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t a dream” Nick inched the pizza box closer to the man, almost beneath his nose, and was rewarded by an audible intake of breath as Wesley caught a whiff of the pepperoni and inhaled the enticing aroma of food that caused his stomach to audibly growl.

Knight found himself drawing an involuntary breath into his own lungs and catching the essence of the mortal seated next to him, marveling again at the compelling nature of the human’s blood. What was it about this man that captured and held his attention? The Watchers Council as a whole was an insufferable, stuffy and pompous bunch of self-important boobs, but still, they were an ancient and venerable organization with roots growing deep into the ancient past, years far preceding his own existence, even that of LaCroix’s. And some of its members sported bloodlines going back thousands of years to more ancient, mystical times….

Was the blood of Wyndam-Pryce from such a revered line?

He said he knew another vampire seeking to be human? In L.A.? Could this vampire sense the uniqueness of this man’s essence, as well? How well did they know one another?

Wesley raised his head and moved a hesitant hand in the direction of the pizza. He raised his eyes as if seeking permission. “I know this must stink like the dickens to you.”

Knight smiled at the comment. Innocent enough in itself, but it felt odd to have a mortal knowingly acknowledge his unique nature and actually apologize for the inconvenience. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it does. But I’ll cope. Please…eat up.” He motioned toward the box, and the man eagerly tore open the lid and seized a slice of pie. He bit into it, closed his eyes as if savoring the moment, then swiftly devoured the piece as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Yeah, I know, Nat. It’s the craziest thing. He’s in the shower.” Knight sat on the sofa with the phone to his ear, listening to the excited voice of the young Medical Examiner on the other end. “We’re putting out a search for his bike, but you never know about these things. It’s probably already in a chop-shop or halfway to New York, by now.” He paused again and listened to her response. “Yes. He’s a Watcher. Or rather *was* a Watcher. They study the paranormal, and for the most part, the Enforcers ignore them. I’m not quite sure why. Both groups probably formed around the same time, so maybe they’re used to giving one another a lot of leeway. Still, I’ll keep an eye on him if he decides to stay in the city while we search for his motorcycle. He’s lost his I.D, everything, poor guy. He’s pretty ragged. It looks like he was at his wit’s end even before this happened.”

Knight kicked back and rested his heels on the coffee table as his friend continued to question him in an excited voice. He smiled. “Yes. A souled vampire. That’s what he said. I’m not quite sure what he means by the phrase, and I haven’t had the chance to really question him yet, but I’m dying to get some answers. He’s starting to trust me, I think. It’s the darnedest thing. I’m just not used to mortals knowing about me and accepting what I am….” He trailed as Natalie curtly corrected him. “Yes. I know, Nat, I wasn’t referring to you. I know that you accept what I am…more or less.” 

This last was offered softly, too softly for her to hear. 

“What? No. I didn’t say anything. But I’d like to keep an eye on the guy, if he’ll let me. At least until I get a few answers. Even if the Enforcers let him slide, I’m not so certain about LaCroix, if he gets wind of this. I….” 

A noise from the loft above caught Nick’s attention and he glanced upward toward the bedroom. “Sounds like he’s moving around. I’ll go see if I own anything that’ll fit the guy. See ya in a few hours when my shift starts. I’m anxious to see if I can come up with any new leads on our latest case. That murder was pretty brutal. I’m hoping it doesn’t trace back to any member of my community. See ya soon, Nat.” He started to hang up and paused. “What? Yes, I still have the amulet. I wasn’t able to come up with any information about it. I’ll call if anything comes up. See ya.” He reached behind the sofa, returned the phone to its cradle then rose and headed up the stairs.

A souled vampire? What did Wyndam-Pryce mean by that phrase? 

Although, he forfeited his humanity centuries before, Nick Knight never felt as if he lost his soul. His moral compass, perhaps. His right to beseech the mercy of God and the Church, but he always assumed that he possessed a soul. 

This situation was becoming stranger by the minute. Wyndam-Pryce might very well possess answers to questions that had been plaguing him for hundreds of years. There was no way he was letting this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Knight paused in the doorway of his bedroom. 

The mortal had stepped from the shower, a towel draped around his waist, his dark hair damp and curling in a wild array of unruly ringlets around his head, much as Nick’s own hair was prone to do when wet. The human didn’t see him as he moved into the room, but stood with his back to the door. Knight was stuck by how painfully skinny the man looked, his ribs poking through the thin veneer of his ivory skin. He’d quickly consumed the pizza Nick ordered and downed two beers, but he couldn’t help wonder if this man had been depriving himself of proper food for weeks or even months before his current mishap. Why?

He was still unshaven, and it lent him a rugged, almost dangerous appearance, in conjunction with the scar that glared across his throat. But Knight trusted the wisdom of his internal instincts more than he trusted the image the man sought to project, and he knew the ex-watcher was not an uncultured man. Dangerous yes, but there was an air of refinement lingering beneath the rough exterior, in the graceful movements of his body when he thought no one was looking. 

Without a doubt, the young Englishman came from an upper-class background, regardless of the dire straits in which he currently found himself. 

Knight stepped into the room and started to speak to alert the man to his presence, when his keen eyes caught something in the dim light of the room that drew him up short. 

The man’s back faced him in the shadows, a towel draped low across his waist. His skin was pale, almost blue-white and crisscrossed with finely drawn traces of thin scars, faint and obscenely delicate as they marred the pale flesh, an affront to the porcelain skin of the man’s smooth back. A mortal would have missed the marks, but to Knight’s vampire senses they glared at him from the white skin.

Nick drew an unneeded breath deep into his lungs.

Wyndam-Pryce had been beaten. Years ago from the old look of the scars. Probably in youth, from the way they stretched along his lengthening torso as he grew to manhood. Knight knew a lot about scars and he knew such markings when he saw them. They weren’t as prevalent in this modern age as they were in the days of his own youth, but he’d seen the telling lash of scars left by enough whips to know when he saw them. An unexpected flash of rage swept through him. He knew what it was like to be beaten, humiliated and humbled as an adult, but he was spared such abomination when he was a child.

No one should ever beat a child.

He took a step back from the unsuspecting man; suddenly aware he’d seen something the Englishman would probably consider a violation of his privacy.

Knight turned and slipped quietly from the room.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*1787*

 

//His fingers danced across the ivory keys. Music wafted into the air, tantalizing. In the flickering glow of the candelabras it assumed a life of its own; mesmerized his senses.

Nicholas closed his eyes and soared into the freedom, became one with the pure, uncensored sound that unfettered his heart and sent his soul into flight.

In his youth, he studied the basics on his *maman’s* dulcimer. But it was centuries later when finally he refined his innate talent, at LaCroix’s insistence, upon the harpsichord. Now, this…

A piano.

No grander gift, than this, had he ever received. His hands caressed the essence, the *soul,* of this masterful creation, designed and crafted with loving hands by a Florentine maker of harpsichords. Nicholas desired to possess such an instrument from the moment he first learned of its existence.

Painstakingly commissioned and exported from Italy, transported by ship, across the lonely ocean to these distant colonial shores he now called home, the piano, elegant and regal, arrived in his absence one evening and was stationed with all due pomp and circumstance in the drawing room of his country estate, where it awaited his timely arrival.

His heart sprang into his chest. Such a sight! Its lustrous black finish, the cool, ivory keys, and the sound, clear and pure. Unlike any sound he’d ever heard.

LaCroix stood next to it, poised with graceful refinement in a velvet jacket of midnight-blue, ruffles at the cuffs and collar; his hand rested lightly atop the instrument, his expression unreadable.

“You!” Nicholas’ eyes absorbed the sight as his feet compelled him toward the piano. “This is…yours?”

“No.”

He pulled in his breath.

“A gift for the gifted, *mon doue enfant*.”

“Mine?” His knees melted beneath him and he sank to the stool LaCroix offered. His eyes caressed the instrument, then rose to search the alabaster face of the man who solemnly watched him. “How…Why?”

“Need you ask?”

His exuberance darkened to suspicion. “You desire something of me, don’t you?”

“Indeed.” LaCroix slipped onto the bench at his side and breathed into his ear. “I desire that you should play.”//


	3. 3/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*2002*

 

His hands danced over the ivory keys and music gently wafted through the room, rising into the air toward the skylights high overhead and beyond into the purple twilight of coming night. Nick closed his eyes, bowed his head and played, his fingers caressing the keys as a lover might stroke the tender skin of his beloved. His music soared, and the candles flickered gently in the dim, but his heart was heavy. 

The stranger weighed on Knight’s conscience though he couldn’t imagine why. He barely knew the man, and only wanted information his unexpected guest might possess, knowledge of another vampire such as himself who longed for humanity. LaCroix would be appalled.

LaCroix be damned.

The name struck a stab of pain though his chest and he drew a deep breath into his lungs as he continued to play. Louder. Harder. His fingers struck the keys with blunt force that violently shook the majestic instrument.

The delicate scars lacing the soft skin of Wyndam-Pryce’s back rose to haunt him.

He knew what it was like to be beaten and humiliated by someone he trusted. What was it like for this young Englishman to experience such an affront when he was no more than a child? The scars were old and stretched by the growth of his body, leaving no doubt they were inflicted in youth. And so pale a casual human observer might easily miss them.

Why did he care? Certainly it was none of his business or his concern. Still…

A footfall at the head of the stairs drew his attention but he continued to play as the man descended the stairs and moved slowly across the expanse of the spacious room and joined him, pausing at his side next to the grand piano. His subtle movement caused the flame of the candelabras placed around the room to gently flicker.

“You play quite beautifully.” The man observed. “I used to play years ago, when I was young. But my studies took precedence and my…” He paused then continued softly, “Well, I simply stopped. There wasn’t time for such things. A proper Watcher had to attend to more important studies.”

What was the man going to say before he paused? Nick wondered briefly as he continued to play, more gently now that he had an audience. He caressed the keys rather than striking them. It was seldom he had the pleasure of playing for a cultured listener who appreciated classical music. He occasionally played for Natalie, but he hadn’t played for LaCroix in years and he didn’t want to think about LaCroix, especially tonight.

Suddenly he stopped and dropped his hands into his lap. “Would you care to play, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?”

His guest seemed surprised and momentarily at a loss for words. 

Knight turned and looked at the man for the first time since he entered the room. Still unshaven, he was slightly unkempt, but he managed to locate a deep blue silk shirt that suited him from among Knight’s wardrobe, and a pair of older, black Dockers that fit despite being a tad large in the waist. He’d carefully straightened the wire-rimed spectacles that Nick found laying in the alleyway next to his collapsed body, and the adjusted glasses were returned to what was probably their customary position on his nose. 

It was the first time Knight saw the man in glasses and if he thought the Englishman appeared young before, he now seemed even more so. Far less the rough, angry and suspicious man he first met in the alleyway and more a studious, refined gentleman. His gray-blue eyes appraised Knight’s baby grand with keen interest.

Again, Nick gestured toward the piano.

The man hesitated. “Truly, I assure you, it’s been years. I stopped playing long before University and…”

Nick chuckled softly and rose from the bench, indicating that the man should sit. “Please. I insist.” 

He drew a deep breath and slowly slipped onto the vacated bench. For a moment, he sat and simply regarded the instrument in silence. Then carefully, gently, he laid his fingers on the keys and stroked them without playing a single note, a faraway light in the depths of his eyes. It was apparent he wanted to play but something was holding him back. A faded memory, perhaps, of something long forgotten or something he wanted to forget.

“Play.” The word was the mere suggestion of a whisper as Knight leaned near and breathed against his cheek. “I insist.”

Slowly, Wesley began to play. His fingers moved over the keys. Hesitantly at first, as if searching for inspiration buried deep within his soul, fighting to draw it out. Then with greater assurance as the minutes passed and confidence built. It wasn’t as smoothly refined as Knight’s own playing but for someone who hadn’t played in years, Nick was impressed. The Englishman possessed true talent. Whoever the fool was who forbade him to play in his youth was a blundering idiot. The man’s naturally graceful and slender hands were clearly designed for such an instrument. Far more suited, in fact, than Nick’s own stubby fingers. 

*A proper Watcher had to attend to more important studies.*

A Watcher? Was he, in fact, from one of the more revered and ancient lines of Watchers? Did that account for the aura of power Knight felt surrounding the man? 

He studied his unique guest as he continued to play, becoming more self-assured and relaxed with each note he coaxed from the ivories beneath his nimble fingers. 

Nick found himself smiling. Aside from Natalie, he hadn’t entertained someone who knew of his true nature and accepted it, in years. Wyndam-Pryce accepted what he was, albeit not without trepidation. The man was no fool. As a Watcher, he was fully trained to identify and protect himself against vampires. What puzzled Nick, was why didn’t this interesting young man use more powerful forces against him when he first encountered him lying injured and frightened in the alley? Why did he rely solely on a stake? Maybe he was able to sense Knight’s age and reasoned that magic might prove ineffectual. 

Knight was curious and wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry. Besides, his first concern had to be the vampire in L.A.

“You said that you knew one of my kind in California who longed to regain his humanity?”

A cloud suddenly shadowed the man’s face and the fluidity of his hands faltered; he missed a note. “Yes.” The word was barely audible. Had it not been for his sensitive hearing Knight would have missed it.

“Would you tell me about him?”

He missed a second note.

Nicholas frowned. The subject clearly disturbed his guest. Why? “I really need to know. You see, my own quest…”

Abruptly, the music stopped and he dropped his hands into his lap. Not meeting his host’s eyes, he stared straight ahead and softly replied, “Angel. Yes, I knew him…thought I knew him. But then, I suppose, he could say the same of me.” He fell into silence, still staring straight ahead. His face appeared frozen without thought or emotion, but Knight could sense the wild racing of the man’s heart and the sudden rise of sweat and pheromones from his body. The revelation puzzled yet intrigued him. He hadn’t expected such a response. Just what was this Watcher’s relationship with the vampire he called Angel? 

The name wasn’t familiar to him but that wasn’t unusual. This Angel was most likely one of the younger vampires who roamed the countryside in the last few centuries. LaCroix did not encourage him (allow him) to associate with rash young fledglings.

“We worked together in L.A. for the last few years. We were…friends. I’m afraid I bumbled that…terribly, as I’m so often apt to do. In all good conscience, I can’t fault him for his animosity towards me. I imagine, I’d feel the same if our positions were reversed. Still…I would have liked to explain.” He paused as if the words were suddenly painful and he dipped his head. “It’s Gunn that I fail to understand and the others. I thought that…well, I fancied they were my fam…” He caught his breath and continued softly. “Friends. I thought they were my friends, and that they might wish to understand my side of what happened.”

To a casual observer, the man would have appeared hardened and resolved, but Knight could sense the racing of his heart, taste the emotions in the air, and he knew his guest was in a great deal of pain. He hadn’t expected or intended to produce such a reaction.

He hated to push and yet he needed to know. “This vampire, you say he called himself Angel? Do you know anything else about him?”

“It’s likely you would know him as Angelus. The council records refer to him as, The Scourge of Europe.”

The crazy Irishman! 

Knight grimaced and dropped his head. Another dead-end. “I’ve heard of him.” He sighed. “Angelus went insane. There’s no great mystery in that. It happens sometimes. It was rumored that he fell under a curse, and it’s possible that it’s true. But he was always a reprobate, a braggart and a fool. He drew irresponsible attention to himself and our kind with his exploits. It’s a wonder the Enforcers didn’t destroy him and his fledglings years ago. I never met him.” 

LaCroix would not have approved of such an association. Angelus was common and vulgar by LaCroix’s standards. It was no wonder he drew the attention of the Council of Watchers. Such exploits often did. While the more venerable and cautious of his kind slipped quietly into obscurity.

“He *was* cursed.” The Englishman broke the silence. “And until the last several years he was a bit insane. But he’s been seeking his redemption these past few years. I had thought to aid him…”

“You!” Knight interrupted, surprised. “A Watcher helping a vampire seek his humanity?”

“Ex-watcher,” he corrected quietly. “And yes. I made it my life’s goal. A foolish mistake, I’m afraid. But I considered it a noble cause. And I considered that we were friends. But I feel compelled to confess, I betrayed that friendship.”

A vampire and a watcher. Friends? It was incredible. Was Angelus truly so foolish and arrogant as to disregard the potential inherent in such an alliance?

Although the man seemed solemnly resolved and composed, Knight could sense the turmoil in the tenseness of his body and the irregular beat of his strong heart.

This mortal was grieving.

A vampire and a watcher? Had such a thing ever happened before? 

Angelus was a fool to disregard the offer of friendship and assistance from a watcher, even an ex-watcher. If anyone could aid the vampire in his quest it would be such a man. Knight felt a tinge of envy that this arrogant Angelus had casually tossed aside the aid of someone Nick would have eagerly worked with had fate given him the opportunity.

“I really should be going.” Wesley abruptly stood. “I’ve imposed upon you far too long as it is. I’ll return your things as soon as I get settled somewhere…”

“You can’t be serious.” He interrupted, surprised. “You’ve nowhere to go, and besides, it isn’t safe for you here. The Enforcers might decide that you’re a threat and snatch you up. They usually ignore Watchers, but I can’t be certain of that. I phoned in the report on your bike, but it could be days before anything shows up. *If* anything shows up. You really should stay here.”

“Here?” His eyes widened slightly. “With… a vampire?” He chucked softly at the absurdity of the situation. “It would seem, The Powers That Be possess a morbid sense of the ironic. Or perhaps they reserved their twisted sense of the absurd just for me.”

“You’d be much safer here, I assure you, and I have the department trying to track down your possessions.” Why was it suddenly so important to Nick for this ex-watcher to stay? He knew that it would be much easier on him if the man simply walked out that door and slipped quietly from his life, and yet… Something about him compelled Knight to insist, “It’s no trouble. The sofa isn’t the most comfortable place on earth to sleep; it doesn’t pull out, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“Truly, I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough. Besides, I must confess to a certain amount of trepidation at the thought of remaining under the same roof as a vampire, despite your intriguing claims to have been seeking a similar goal as my erstwhile ex-colleague. It has been said of me lately that I’ve been entertaining a death wish, and doubtless it’s true, still…it seems I’m reluctant to meet that fate at the teeth, as it were, of a vampire.”

“I assure you, my claims are true. I haven’t killed an innocent human being in over a century. Although in my line of work I’ve occasionally had the misfortune of causing the death of an errant felon or two.”

The ex-watcher’s eyes lit with interest. “Yes. You mentioned that you’re a detective on the police force. You’ll forgive me if I find that incredibly difficult to believe. I’ve never heard of such a thing. A vampire “passing” as fully human.”

“I’ll admit, it’s unusual but it does happen. Understandably, I work the night shift.” He couldn’t resist a grin that lent his face a sudden boyish air. He hoped the effect would help to put his reluctant guest at ease as mortals were often pleasantly affected by his charm. Or at least tempt him into considering the possibility of remaining. There was so much more about this interesting ex-watcher and his relationship with Angelus that he wanted to know. 

“Amazing. Utterly amazing.” He slowly shook his head. “I never imagined I’d encounter a creature such as yourself. Angel was unique enough, but he was a bit of an obsession for me even before I actually met him. Not surprisingly, the “Scourge of Europe” was a favorite source of intrigue for quite a few of us gullible young watchers during our earlier training. Reading of his exploits was a guilty pastime for me, I’m afraid. Though I never admitted that fact to Angel. I never imagined that I’d actually meet him.” He sighed and looked away. “Needless to say, I now rather wish I hadn’t.”

“My shift starts in about thirty minutes so I need to get downtown, but I really wish you’d reconsider, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Actually, it wouldn’t hurt for you to accompany me. The department will want you to fill out a proper report. I’ll introduce you to Natalie Lambert; she’s a forensic pathologist, the M.E. for the metro police force. She knows about me.”

The man’s eyes lit with interest. “Really? A medical examiner, no less. You’ll forgive me if I find that somewhat amusing.”

Knight chuckled softly. “This entire situation is fraught with irony, isn’t it? My life. Your life. Us meeting in the alley last night. Please, consider my offer. After you’ve talked with Nat you might feel more comfortable about the situation. Besides, as I’ve said, you need to come in and fill out the proper paperwork for us to try and find your things.”

The phone rang, interrupting their conversation and he stepped over to the sofa and reached behind to the table and lifted the receiver. To his surprise, the woman he just mentioned was on the other end and she started off in an excited voice. “Nat, whoa, hold up. What’s this all about?” He paused and listened intently then frowned. “Another one? Are you sure? You weren’t able to get your hands on it were you?” He hissed with frustration. “Then Tracy has it and they’ve taken it as evidence. Damn. I wish you’d been able to get your hands on it. I know…” He looked up as his guest crossed the room to stand beside him, drawn by the seriousness of Knight’s expression. “I know there was nothing you could do about it; sorry I snapped. I’ll see you in a little while.” He glanced over at Pryce. “And I may be bringing a friend.”

Wesley gave a slight nod that brought a smile to Nick’s lips.

“See ya, soon.” He hung up and returned his full attention to his guest who stood watching him with curiosity.

“You’ll forgive me for saying, but you appear a bit distressed.” 

“It’s just this case we’ve been working on. About a week ago, a body turned up, badly mauled and mutilated. Worst than most I’ve seen in quite a while. My partner and I were first on the scene and I found this.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small amulet he’d hidden from the prying eyes of his fellow investigators. “I’m not sure what it is, but I didn’t want it taken in as evidence in the chance that it might lead them back to our community. There’s just something about it that bothers me.” He opened his hand and the small golden disk caught the room’s subtle light and faintly glowed. 

“Oh dear.”

He looked up into the solemn face of the ex-watcher and found him frowning.


	4. 4/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Nat, this is Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.” Knight gestured toward the tall, slender man at his side who nodded to the young brunette doctor. She began removing her gloves as the three stood next to the autopsy table and the sheet draped figure lying there. It was an awkward place for introductions but Knight’s newest acquaintance seemed to take both the autopsy room and its unfortunate occupant in stride.

“Dr. Lambert.” He extended his hand and accepted the lady’s. “Wesley, please.” He turned to include Knight in his comment. “The other’s a bit of a mouthful. Detective Knight tells me you’ve had two rather grisly and unique murders in the last two weeks.” He glanced covertly to the side and continued softly. “He said they found an amulet on this victim, as well?”

Natalie looked at Nick who nodded, before continuing quietly. “Yes. But they took it as evidence. This body’s in the same shape as the other one. Ripped to shreds. If I had to guess, I’d say wild dogs did it, but the tears are far too clean and methodical to be the random bites of an animal. I’ve no idea what did this.”

“I have a theory,” Wesley interjected softly.

Doctor Lambert frowned and sought the detective’s eyes, who again nodded.

“I assume Nick’s told you that I specialize in, well…this sort of thing. The paranormal, if you will. I believe that I recognized the amulet that was found on the first victim as belonging to an ancient cult who worship the demon--”

“Excuse me? Did you say “demon?” Natalie couldn’t help but interrupt, her tone laced with incredulity. “Just when I think I’ve seen it all. You’re going to go and tell me that a….” She turned to indicate the sheet-draped victim lying silently on the autopsy table. “A *demon* did this?”

“Interesting,” Wesley responded with surprise. “You accept the existence of vampires yet discount the existence of demons? Forgive me if I find that a bit odd, considering your obvious association with the detective here.”

Natalie found herself slightly ill-at-ease and she cast Nicholas a quick glance. She did fully accept the reality of her friend’s unfortunate condition, but discussing it openly with this man was unnerving. That he so casually accepted the paranormal was something that would take her awhile to get used to. Until now, she had been forced to bear the burden of Nick’s struggle alone. That someone else was also aware of his unique nature and seemed to easily accept it, was astonishing. It was difficult for her to openly discuss the possibility that such things as vampires, and now demons, might be ravaging the city.

“Yes…well.” She cleared her throat and continued with her usual authoritative tone. “You’ll forgive me if I have to admit that I’ve never encountered a demon, before. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t aware they existed, outside of twisted fairytales, of course. But you’re saying you believe a demon could have done it.”

“It’s possible. If the members of this cult actually succeeded in summoning a Bantar demon, it could be loose. These things happen. It’s been my experience that for the most part, amateurs and unwitting young people happen upon these little trinkets in antique shops and such, with no real practical knowledge of what they are or how to handle such things if they do manage to actually summon a real demon. They get high on the possibility of power and whatnot, summon the demon, and end up dead as a result. It’s probably loose and methodically eliminating the members of the cult who are too foolish to discard those amulets, since it appears to be targeting victims who are carrying those charms.”

“Damn.” She hissed beneath her breath. “I thought I’d heard everything. Now you’re telling me that demons actually exist. I think I could use a stiff drink about now--”

“There you are!”

An exasperated feminine voice interjected from the doorway and Nick looked up to see his partner Tracy Vetter storming through the door, a dark expression on her face. 

“You’re always going off on your own and leaving me out of the loop…” She pulled up short when she caught sight of the tall stranger standing next to Doctor Lambert. “And you would be?” 

Wesley cast a glance in Nick’s direction and the vampire discreetly shook his head “No,” to let the ex-watcher know that Tracy was blissfully unaware of his true nature. Without missing a beat, Wesley extended his hand and smoothly interjected, “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Private Investigator. You must be Tracy Vetter.”

“He’s an old friend…from the states.” Knight quickly moved to stand between them.

“From the states?” Vetter pursed her lips with slight indignation. “With that accent?”

“L.A…of late.” Wesley explained. “Just visiting.”

Tracy sighed and slowly shook her head, not sure she was buying any of this. “I didn’t know that Nick had any ‘old’ friends. He’s as tight lipped as a clam about his past. So you’re a P.I. from L.A? What do you make of our little crime spree?”

“Most…intriguing.”

“Personally. I think it’s the work of a cult,” she blurted out and Knight almost choked. Tracy never ceased to amaze him. “Ritual murder or some sort of sacrifice. What’s your opinion, Mr. Pryce?” She studied him closely, her eyes never leaving his face. 

“Possibly,” he responded carefully. “I haven’t officially been called in as a consultant.”

“Wes is here to file a report.” Knight added quickly. “His bike was stolen. I’m afraid that was his initial introduction to the hospitality of our city.”

“Sorry. Bum deal.” Her eyes caught the darkened gash on his forehead and her expression softened. “This really isn’t normally a bad place to live. By the way…” She leaned closer to the man and suddenly grinned. “Just how long *have* you known our Nick?”

“Wes.” Knight smoothly grabbed the other man’s arm and steered him toward the exit. “About that paperwork…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Tracy is what’s known as a Resister.” Knight explained as they headed out of the precinct hours later, into the somber glare of the streetlights and toward the back parking lot where he left the caddy. 

“You used that term earlier today.” Wesley followed by his side as they circled around the building to the lot in the rear. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with it.”

“It means she’s resistant to suggestions or mind control by members of my community. Unfortunately, she knows about the existence of vampires and it was impossible to erase that knowledge from her mind. That puts her at risk from the Enforcers. But she doesn’t know about me.” He smiled as they passed down the row of cars, heading toward the caddy. “She thinks that she’s protecting me from the reality of things that go bump in the night.”

Wesley chuckled softly. “Vampires, monsters and demons.”

“Honestly, I’ve never seen a demon. But LaCroix and I have argued the validity of their existence for hours on end.”

The ex-watcher pulled up short, an astonished expression on his face. “Truly? You’ve never seen a demon? I speak several demonic languages.”

“Never.” He shook his head. “Although I believe in the existence of corporal demons and the reality of possession, I’ve never encountered a physical manifestation of one. LaCroix insists they don’t exist at all.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe.”

They walked on to the caddy and each moved to their respective sides of the vehicle. Knight paused and rested his hand on the handle. For a moment, he searched the man’s face cast in shadows, before confessing softly, “When I was mortal, I possessed an indelible conviction of the existence of God, beings greater than ourselves that shaped our destinies. Unfortunately, I’ve lost most of that faith in the last 700 years.”

“700 years!” The man’s eyes, behind the reflection of his glasses, grew wide. “You’ve existed for over seven centuries? Incredible. Simply incredible.” A light of intrigue brightened his face, and he suddenly reminded Knight of a child presented with a new toy on Christmas morning. “The information you possess must be astounding,” he gasped. “The history you’ve witnessed unfold. I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to share some of that first hand knowledge with me?”

“Then you’ve decided to accept my offer to stay on for a few days while we try to locate your possessions?” He couldn’t resist a grin.

The ex-watcher looked momentarily surprised as if taken off-guard. Then a smile slightly tipped his lips and he gave his prospective host a nod of assent. “It’s not as if I’m unaccustomed to--” He broke off his comment and focused his attention into the shadows beyond Knight’s right shoulder. “Nick? You say you’ve never seen a demon?”

The sudden change of topic took him by surprise. “What?”

“You’re not still carrying that amulet on you?”

“Why?” His hand instinctively went for the pocket of his jacket that contained the talisman, even as he sensed a presence lunge from the shadows behind him and a voice softly utter…

“Oh bugger.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Something slammed into Knight’s back. Hard. Almost driving him into the pavement. He caught his balance and struggled to grasp the concept that “two” sets of gray, rubbery arms had wrapped themselves around his chest and a set of razor-sharp teeth was tearing into his leather-clad shoulder. His companion on the other side of the caddy stood momentarily stunned then sprang into action, racing around the vehicle to aid Nick, even though it was apparent Wesley had no weapon.

*God this thing is strong* Nick thought as its teeth ripped into the leather of his shoulder and sank into the flesh beneath. He hissed in pain and anger as the putrid smell of the creature's breath assaulted his nostrils. Its breath was almost as agonizing to his senses as the pain of its fangs tearing into his shoulder. How could anything stink so badly? And how did it manage to get close enough to Knight to actually seize him before his vampirc senses registered its presence? Maybe he *was* losing his edge after years of a steady diet of cow’s blood, as LaCroix often scoffed. Or perhaps he’d been far more absorbed in the conversation with his unique companion than he realized.

Knight struggled to get a grip on the arms that resembled tentacles wrapped around his upper torso, but every time he managed to dislodge one set, the second set increased its grip. It was infuriating. He never fought a creature with multiple limbs before and he was strangely grateful, in a twisted sort of way, that it was standing behind him, its snout pressed into his shoulder, so that he didn’t have to actually look into its face.

Through the pain and struggle, he dimly registered the sudden presence of the watcher on his left next to the creature. The dull thud of what must have been a tire iron reached his ears and the demon momentarily faltered then renewed its attack with vicious intensity.

Nick finally had enough. The pain was excruciating and his jacket was history. He felt a roar building in his chest; his eyes began to blaze, and with a hiss of outrage, he tore at the arms wrapped around his chest, ripping gray, dull flesh and covering his hands in a flow of greenish sludge that must have been the demon’s blood. Its fangs sank deeper into his shoulder and its arms wrapped tighter. Allowing his full vampire strength to rush to the surface, a cry tore from his lips and he ripped at the demon’s face pressed into his shoulder, his roars mingling with those of the creature’s in an inhuman cacophony of sound.

He slammed his fist into the demon’s face, drawing an ooze of greenish blood from what appeared to be its nose. He slammed his fist into its face again and again as his companion brought his full weight to bear in a blow with the tire iron to the back of the creature’s head.

Wesley drew the beast’s attention and it released Knight and whirled on the man who dove into the fight with astonishing vigor. His frame was slight but well-toned by experience and he wielded the makeshift weapon with calculated aggression, driving the demon back and allowing Knight a second to regroup.

The beast’s flailing arms slashed out at the offending weapon and its rage increased with each well-aimed blow Wesley delivered. He advanced on the creature, swinging the iron with controlled but growing anger. Each blow against the beast’s body intensified his aggression as he slammed the demon with an unrelenting torrent of blows; sweat pouring from his brow still gashed from the altercation in the alley the night before. His attack resembled more a catalyst of outrage than merely an act of self-defense as he swung the iron again and again into the demon’s torso and head.

The beast howled and its eyes blazed as it lunged at its attacker, almost knocking the weapon from his hand. 

It was a wonder this bizarre fight did not attract the attention of a single passerby or even the predictable off-duty cop heading for his car. Knight would be hard pressed to explain why he and Wesley were battling a huge gray-skinned creature with four arms that stood a head taller than either man in the parking lot behind the precinct in downtown Toronto. 

The demon lashed out with one of his multiple arms, almost succeeding in dislodging the iron from Wesley’s grip and sending him staggering back to catch his balance. The creature pursued its sudden advantage and lunged at the mortal, causing him to nearly drop the weapon as he threw up his arm to protect his face from the vicious swipe of razor sharp teeth that missed his left cheek by mere inches and instead sank into the flesh of his hand.

Wesley hissed in pain and Nick sprang toward the demon’s back, trying to pull it off his companion. It sank its teeth deeper into the watcher’s flesh and blood began to pour from the wound, filling the air with its sickly sweet aroma. Knight briefly considered using his gun against it, but reasoned that if it were possible to dispatch the creature without drawing undo attention to themselves, he would. But Wesley’s life would have to take precedence and the demon was unrelenting in its attack. 

It bore down on the ex-watcher, using its impressive height and weight to its advantage as it finally dislodged the weapon from Wesley’s hand, almost knocking him to the pavement.

The scent of blood filled the air. The enticing aroma of the mortal’s sweet blood and the putrid stench of the demon’s. Nick seized the creature from behind, allowing the lust of the blood-scent that called to the beast within him to fill his nostrils and quicken the full power of his vampire strength. His eyes blazed amber.

He grasped the demon’s head firmly in his hands. Roared in outrage and twisted….

A dull snap was all he heard and the creature collapsed, its entire weight crumbling down onto the battle-worn ex-watcher who sank to the pavement buried beneath the demon’s lifeless body.

Wesley struggled to catch his breath, his chest constricted by the inhuman weight pressing down on him. He pushed at the carcass and gasped to breathe, fighting to pull air into his lungs. A momentary panic clouded the pale blue eyes behind his glasses as he shoved at the creature, unable to get any air. “Can’t…breathe…”

Nick quickly moved to his side, grabbed the demon and shoved, astonished by the creature’s dead weight. The pungent odor of the beast was even stronger in death than it was in life, and he gagged as he hauled it off his companion who gratefully pulled air into his lungs once the weight was off his chest.

Wes coughed and slowly regained his composure as oxygen returned to his lungs and a flush of color returned to his pale cheeks. The scar across his throat blazed with the rush of blood as he panted for air.

Nick knelt at his side and helped him to sit up, allowing Wesley’s weight to sag against him as he surveyed the carnage of the demon laying dead in the parking lot next to the caddy. He shook his head in astonishment. 

Wesley’s breathing slowly returned to normal and a chuckle built in his chest and softly escaped his lips. Exhausted, he dropped his head against the vampire’s shoulder. “Detective Knight. Just what part of, “the demon is targeting people who are carrying those amulets,” *didn’t* you understand?” 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The caddy would never smell the same.

The odor of dead-demon seemed to permeate the very pores of Nick’s companion who unfortunately found himself covered in demon goo, the silk-blue shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. The ex-watcher seemed to take it all in stride as he sagely informed the detective that the shirt was beyond repair and promised to offer just compensation for the garment as soon as his circumstances improved. Nick shrugged it off, assuring Wesley that his greatest desire at this point was to burn the offending piece of clothing as quickly as possible, and he thanked the young man for risking his life to kill the creature that attacked him.

Together, they disposed of the carcass and headed back to the loft, a hair’s breath before the tentacles of dawn crept over the horizon, where it was Wesley’s utmost wish to strip and ease the ache of his bruised and battered body in the luxury of a hot shower. 

The mortal was beyond exhaustion, Nick could tell, as they stumbled out of the lift into the apartment and Wesley staggered up the stairs toward the shower. Just the night before, the man had been brutally attacked in an alley by five young men, according to the report he filed; his ribs bruised and his forehead gashed, yet tonight, he fought with surprising vigor and skill as if he did it every night of his life. He accepted the entire experience, demon goo included, with a nonchalance that said he took it all in stride.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was a curious man, indeed.

Showered and utterly fatigued, Wesley allowed Knight to see him settled onto the sofa that was almost too short for his lanky frame and he was dead to the world seconds after his head hit the pillow.


	5. 5/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Nick was abruptly awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep by a sound he could not identify. He sprang up in his bed, dislodging the silken sheets that pooled around his waist, knowing that if his heart were still beating it would have been pounding in his ears. 

No one should be in his lair.

That’s when he remembered Wesley downstairs on the sofa in the great room and he drew a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had a guest in his home in quite some time. Evidently, Wes awakened and was moving around, possibly in search of something to eat. Although there was little chance of him finding much more than wine-laced blood, beer and left over pizza. Knight would have to rectify the sparseness of his cabinets if he wanted to entice the intriguing ex-watcher to remain for any length of time. Mortals needed to eat on a regular basis, three times a day, in fact, and if his late partner Schanke was any example, even that was not enough.

Natalie was always trying to tempt Nick into eating solid food. And occasionally he did in her presence to appease her conviction that living as a human would eventually aid in bringing about the metamorphosis they both longed to achieve -- Knight regaining his mortality. 

But eating solid food was an anathema to Nick and no matter how hard he tried, it still sickened him. He needed the blood. Craved the blood. Nothing else would suffice. Natalie didn’t understand and she never would. She accepted the reality of his “condition,” but saw it as more of a “disease” than a separate state of being. She didn’t seem to realize that Nick was, in fact, a creature very different from herself. 

Wyndam-Pryce, on the other hand, understood fully the nature of Knight’s unique existence and didn’t expect him to be human. More than once the night before, the mortal expressed concern that they needed to quickly dispose of the demon’s body and head back to the loft before dawn. And once, to Knight’s complete shock, he even inquired if Nick had “fed” recently. It was strange, but nice, to have a mortal concerned about such things. He found himself, not for the first time since meeting this man, cursing the stupidity of Angelus for allowing the ex-watcher to slip through his fingers.

Another sound drifted up from the great room below and Nick tuned his senses outward toward the mortal downstairs. A frown creased his brow. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t quite certain what was wrong but his instincts told him he needed to check on his guest.

An uncomfortable thought occurred to him. If, on the off-chance LaCroix happened by and discovered the ex-watcher in his apartment, his sire would not take Nick’s association with Wesley lightly.

He rose from the bed and headed downstairs, expecting to find his guest scrounging around in the refrigerator. Instead, he was surprised to see him still lying asleep on the sofa, cocooned in the blankets but trashing around, mumbling restlessly in his sleep.

Probably still fighting demons, Knight reasoned and turned to head back upstairs when the ex-watcher cried out again and began to fight with the blankets imprisoning him, gasping as if he couldn’t get enough air.

Nick frowned. What if Wes’s injuries were worse than he let on, or the trauma of being trapped beneath the suffocating weight of that putrid demon was still haunting his dreams?

He crossed the room, careful to avoid the beams of sunlight filtering down from the overhead skylights that needed to be closed, and knelt beside the sofa. The man’s arms flailed out as he tore at the blanket bunched around his throat, as if the weight were strangling him. He began to mumble softly beneath his breath and only Knight’s sensitive hearing was able to discern the words…

“Can’t…breathe.”

He reached out and rested his hand against the man’s shoulder. His senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the heat radiating off the mortal in waves and the flush of blood pulsing beneath the pale bluish-white veneer of his skin. Instinctively, Nick inhaled the heady aroma of blood laced with sweat and a mingling of conflicted emotions that rose from the man struggling in the grips of some horrible nightmare. 

“Hey?” He gently shook the man’s shoulder, hoping to bring him out of the dream without startling him too badly. “Wake up. The fight’s over. The demon’s gone.”

At the touch of Nick’s cool hand against the cotton of his shirt plastered to his skin with sweat, Wesley’s eyes flew open and he gasped, still fighting for air. His eyes, wide and unfocused without the benefit of his glasses, stared unseeing into Nick’s face.

“Easy there.” He gripped Wesley’s shoulder. “The demon’s gone.”

Wesley blinked and caught his breath, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings and the presence of the vampire bending over him. For a moment, his face registered surprise and Knight distinctly caught a hint of fear, but before he could castigate himself for not realizing that his unexpected presence might alarm the man who was only too aware of his true nature, the fear was gone and Wesley was struggling to sit up. 

“The demon’s gone, friend,” he said softly, with the hint of a grin.

“Is he truly?” Wesley responded dryly, resting his head against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes, looking more haggard than before he tried to sleep. “I wonder…is he truly?”

Knight frowned at the forlorn tone of the man’s words and realized that it wasn’t the Bantar demon he was dreaming about, but something deeper that haunted this man. Wyndam-Pryce had been though a lot the last few days, even before the mugging and the demon assault. Nick’s eyes passed slowly over the scar that glared in the dim light of the room against the man’s pale throat. Despair emanated from him from the moment Nick found him in the alley, though his stoic demeanor hid it well, prompting Nick to wonder what dark secrets drove Wesley to Toronto in the first place.

Doubtless, Angelus was the cause. But Nick couldn’t imagine what might have transpired between them to drive the ex-watcher to leave L.A. and the cause he devoted his life to.

“Angelus is a fool,” he hissed beneath his breath, too low for the human to hear or so he thought until the man reopened his eyes and gave him a curious look. “Demon fighting really takes it out of you, doesn’t it?” He attempted to lighten the mood.

“I’m used to it.” He sat up and gave his host a slight smile. “It’s what I do…” He faltered and the smile slowly faded. “Or rather…did. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do now.” His voice fell to a whisper and he seemed at a loss for words. As if this revelation just occurred to him and he was disturbed by it.

Knight rose to his feet, stepped over and retrieved the remote to close the skylight-shades overhead, blotting out the deadly rays of the morning sun. 

Wesley looked up as the blinds slowly closed over the brilliant light, casting the room in dusty shadows. “Sorry. I should have thought about that before retiring for the evening.”

“You were dead to the world when we got home. It’s understandable you didn’t notice.” He returned to the sofa and sat when Wesley moved aside to give him space. “If you don’t mind my asking, you kill demons on a regular basis?”

Wesley nodded and settled back, his face once again assuming a stoic lack of emotion. 

“What’s stopping you from continuing to do what you’ve always done?” Nick asked. 

The question took Wes off-guard as if the possibility never occurred to him. “Quite right,” he responded softly, more to himself than to the vampire at his side. “I was a rogue demon hunter before my unfortunate association with Angel Investigations. There’s no reason I can’t continue.” The realization seemed to lighten his mood, though only briefly before his clear blue eyes, once more, clouded with pain. “I’ve mucked things so terribly,” he whispered.

Emotions burned from the mortal in waves but Knight resisted the impulse to pry. Instead he commented. “I suppose, in your line of work, possessing an inborn talent for magic helps.”

“I’m sorry?” The ex-watcher looked confused.

“I was surprised you didn’t use it against me when you discovered that I was a vampire.”

Wesley slowly shook his head, his confusion growing. “I’ve been known to cast an occasional spell. During Watcher training, it’s required, but magic isn’t something I’ve ever endeavored to excel at. Why would you assume that I could?”

Nick was taken aback, and for a moment he was uncertain what to say. Was it possible this man was unaware of the aura of power that surrounded him? That would certainly explain why he didn’t use it against the vampire when he felt cornered in the alley. But the fact that he could possess such innate potential without his family or the council being aware of it and seeking to refine those skills was something Knight could not comprehend. “Wesley.” He leaned near. “What I sense from you…” He was hesitant to continue; it really wasn’t his place to comment but he found himself saying, “There’s power in you. I don’t know why you aren’t aware of it, but I sense it. I felt it from the first moment I met you.”

Wesley looked surprised and sat for a minute simply staring at the vampire before responding. “Power?”

“Older vampires can sense such things and I…I’m certain you possess power that if properly honed and trained you could harness strong magics…”

“No!” Wesley suddenly sprang to his feet and stormed across the room, pausing before the mantel and leaning against it. He bowed his head not meeting his host’s curious eyes. “You’re wrong. I don’t know what you think you’re sensing but you’re wrong.”

“I’m *not* wrong.” Nick didn’t expected such a reaction as he stared into the slightly curved back of the man leaning against the mantel, a marble gargoyle staring down at him with cold, unseeing eyes from the ledge above. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought that you knew. I don’t see how you could possibly be unaware or that your family--”

“My *family,*” he spat the word, “They…*he* made it very clear to me from the time that I could walk, that I possessed *no* talent whatsoever. That I was utterly useless and shouldn’t even bother to make the attempt.”

“*He* told you these things?” Nick whispered, more to himself than to the man who stood silently across the room, his face turned away, his back stiff and unyielding. A vivid picture of the delicate latticework of fine scars covering that back came to mind, and with it, a solemn understanding. It was all about control. Knight understood such things only too well. “Wesley,” he softly interrupted the silence as he dared to tell the man, “*He* was wrong. Your father was wrong. I don’t know what his motivation might have been. Or what he…what he did to you to suppress your abilities, but…”

A dry chuckle emanated from across the room, but Wesley didn’t turn to meet his eyes. “What he did to me…” He trailed, slowly shaking his head. “What he did doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was…that I *am* a disappointment to him. My latest fiasco only confirms this truth. Angel was a fool to trust me.”

Knight rose to his feet and moved across the great room to stand at the man’s side. Wesley didn’t turn to look at him, but continued to stare unseeing into the blackened ash of embers in the fireplace that had long grown cold. “Wes, I’m not wrong about this. I know it isn’t any of my business--”

“You’re right.” His voice rose sharply. “It isn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two men and Knight started to withdraw, knowing he was treading on extremely personal ground, but suddenly unable to stop himself. “It’s about control,” he said, knowing only-too-well what that was like. “Some men…some fathers, need to have control and they’ll use any means possible to obtain it.”

Wesley whirled around and faced the vampire, his expression livid. “You know nothing about it! You have no idea how hard he tried, the lengths he went to, to help me…”

“He lied to you, Wesley,” he interrupted. “I don’t know why, but for some reason your father lied to you. If he told you that you were worthless and possessed no talent, he was trying to control you for some reason. Maybe he was intimidated when he realized the potential you possessed or maybe he was afraid of losing you, I don’t know. But I sense great power emanating from you; I’m not wrong about this.”

The ex-watcher stood speechless, and stared at Nick. Then he took a step back, shaking his head in denial. “You’re wrong. He tried. I know he tried. It was my fault. If I’d worked harder, I wouldn’t have been an embarrassment to him.” He stopped, suddenly aware of the confidence he revealed. “I’m sorry…. I shouldn’t have gone on like that. Forgive me, it was most inappropriate.” He looked away and stared into the burned out ash of the fireplace as silence filled the room.

It was wrong of Nick to push this man, he knew. It really wasn’t his place to challenge the carefully constructed perceptions of a lifetime that held Wesley’s reality together. Knight turned to walk away when the soft tones of the Englishman’s voice reached his ears and he paused.

“All those years,” he whispered beneath his breath. “All those hours…under the stairs. I *believed* him. But if what you say is true.” He turned bright eyes in Knight’s direction. “Why didn’t Angel sense this about me?” 

“I can’t say. The crazy Irishman is centuries younger than I am. I know that I wouldn’t have been able to feel this power emanating from you before my first five hundred years. I noticed a distinct change in my ability to perceive such things several centuries ago. I can smell the power surging through the fragrance…of your blood.” Even as he said the words, he regretted them. Reminding himself of the enticing aroma of the watcher’s blood was something he didn’t need to do, nor risking the possibility that this revelation would make his guest ill-at-ease. But Wesley seemed to take the information in stride. As if discussing the culinary potential of his extraordinary blood was an everyday event. But then, given his past associations, perhaps it was. The ex-watcher was a fascinating mortal. “I know what it’s like to be manipulated and controlled.”

“I wonder.” He breathed, dropping his eyes. “All those years. There was no point to the things he did!” The words were out of his mouth before he realized just how personal his confession was, but once he began, the catharsis gained momentum and the words rushed from his lips in a torrent of anger. “The beatings I could tolerate. One grew accustomed to such things. Even the cane. But the endless berating and…the darkness. I never grew accustomed to the darkness. I still loathe closed in places.” He drew a deep breath into his lungs and slowly released it, grasping his hands to steady their sudden trembling. “And *rats*. They lived in the walls of our old house. I could hear the furry little bastards scurrying around in the darkness, just waiting to sink their teeth into me.” He shuddered. “Those sons of bitches were in the hotel, as well, in those old decrepit walls. No wonder that place always gave me the creeps. I should have taken it as a sign and moved on long ago.”

Nick surprised himself by reaching out and resting his hand against the man’s arm; it trembled beneath his touch and a torrent of memories washed over him of dark, closed in places and bitter altercations with LaCroix over the centuries, concerning what was best for him. He knew what it was like to feel trapped and mentally manipulated, to be controlled by someone he trusted. Someone who wanted to mold him into a creation that suited his purpose and plans.

*I’m sorry….*

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*1787*

 

//His hands raced over the ivory keys. Music filled the air and his senses swam. He had never known such exquisite peace as this…

“Nicholas.”

His hands poised in mid-motion above the keys and he turned at the sound of the voice.

LaCroix sauntered into the room, debonair in a suit of purple velvet, a brocade satin vest, and an abundance of ruffles at his collar and cuffs. “I’ve someone that I want you to meet.” He turned and gestured toward the double-doors. “May I present, *Frau Genevieve von Wilhelm.*”

Accompanied by the gentle rustle of a multitude of layered petticoats embellished by ribbons and bows, and a profusion of coiffured and powdered hair, a regal lady sashayed into the parlor.

“A guest?” Nicholas rose to his feet in surprise and offered the lady a courtly bow. “*Guten abend, Frau von Wilhelm.*”

The woman’s eyes widened with delight and she swept across the room to Nicholas’ side. “What a delicious young man. He is every bit the beauty you described, *Her* LaCroix.”

Nicholas found himself at a loss for words and his eyes sought LaCroix in confusion.

“Indeed he is, Genevieve.”

“You shall be all the rage at court,” She gushed, grabbing his arm. “Skin so porcelain pale you require not an ounce of precious powder. And these oh so luscious curls. *Locken Kopf!*” Before he could protest, her fingers found the golden locks, swept them from his brow, caressed them with her slender hands. “It would be a crime to conceal them beneath the ostentation of a wig.”

She tossed her head in gay disregard of her own elaborate abundance of wig, powered white like her finely chiseled face, and embellished by a sprinkling of gold-dust and beads woven in the most complex designs Nicholas had ever seen. He traced their intricacies with his eyes, began to count the strands until dizziness claimed his senses and his head began to swim. He blinked and tore his eyes away.

“I’m afraid, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled.

“Sweetest *Nikolaus.*” She cooed and swept him near, crushed his cheek against her ample bosom at the plunge of her gown. 

He stiffened in surprise and pulled away as politely as decorum would allow.

She burst into ripples of laughter. “Young man, I believe you’re blushing.”

LaCroix chuckled and his eyes fell to the half-emptied glass resting atop the piano, the remains of Nicholas’ earlier repast. “It is entirely possible that you are correct, Frau Genevieve.”

Nicholas shot him a desperate glance.

“The ladies shall swoon when you arrive, my sweetness,” she breathed against his cheek, then winked. “And not a few of the pretty gentlemen, as well, I might imagine.”

“*Ich verstehe nicht. Frau von Wilhelm*, I mean no disrespect. But I’ve truly no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Vienna!” The word was ambrosia on her scarlet lips and her eyes closed in ecstasy. “You shall accompany me there. I am to present you to society’s elite, *mein* beauty, and from there, on to the palace in Berlin.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Our *wunderkind* Amadeus will be so pleased to meet you.”

“Mozart!” He felt the earth give way beneath him and he grabbed the piano for support. Could such a thing be true? The dream of a lifetime. All the lifetimes he’d lived. To meet, to bask, in the mere presence of such a master. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart! His eyes sought LaCroix who stood poised in silence across the room, a glass in hand; its ruby liquid beckoned in the candle’s light. “You knew.”

The hint of a smile whisked over his lips and he raised his glass in silent tribute. *How could I not, mein wunderkind.*//

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*2002*

 

*I’m sorry*…

He wanted to say, but he knew the words would sound shallow. For good or ill, he’d told this man the truth. What he did with that truth was up to him. He could hone the innate powers he possessed and continue doing what he felt called to do -- hunt demons. Or he could give up and crumble into himself, growing hard and bitter with the passing years.

Wesley didn’t pull away from the cool hand resting against his arm, and for some reason Nick was pleased by that. He gripped Wesley’s arm tightly and the two men stood in companionable silence, each lost in their own bitter thoughts as the minutes slowly passed. There were so many things Nick wanted to say, confessions he never told anyone, even Nat, of “darkness” as Wesley called it and being stuffed in closed in, lonely places for days on end. Beatings and mental manipulations…. those were the worst…

He found himself strangely drawn to this man who endured a similar fate at the hands of someone he trusted…someone who should have loved and protected him but only offered darkness. The rich blood that sang through his veins beckoned to the vampire within Nick, but something beyond the blood called to him as well, taking him by surprise, and he was confused by the intensity of emotions that suddenly washed through him. He realized he could confess centuries of anguish to this man without fear of recrimination or rejection…

But glancing over at the tall, gaunt young man with the intense blue eyes clouded by bitter memories of the past, his strong jaw held rigid, Nick found himself saying, instead, “Do you want a beer?”

Those intense blue eyes flew wide in surprise. “At 7:00 in the morning!”

Knight shrugged and grinned. “My late partner Schanke, thought that beer was the answer to everything, that and Chinese food, but I don’t have any around here and they don’t deliver. So…?”

Wesley began to chuckle and slowly shook his head in amazement. “This partner of yours sounds like he was a genius.”

At this, Knight couldn’t help but laugh. “Not exactly, but he had his finer moments of brilliance…I miss him…”

“7:00 in the morning,” He repeated softly as he mulled his over in his mind. “Wouldn’t father be scandalized.”

“Then my all means, have two.”

Wesley began to chuckle harder then finally to laugh. “Don’t mind if I do, Detective Knight. Besides, I have my work cut out for me here in Toronto, so I might as well relax while I can.”

“Work?” 

“Demon hunting. It’s what I do…” His expression lightened as the creases in the corners of his eyes began to soften. “It’s…what I *am.*” 

“We already killed the demon.” Nick cringed at the memory of battling the disgusting creature and was in no hurry to encounter another such monster. If he *never* saw another Bantar in his unlife it would be too soon. “I don’t believe there are very many demons in Toronto.”

“There’s at least one more.” 

Nick frowned.

Wesley eyes began to twinkle as he added, “Bantars come in pairs.”

 

Tbc…


	6. 6/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Why did it bother Nick that Wes went off alone several hours later to hunt the demon? He offered the use of one of his swords, a thirteenth century samurai Katana. The ex-watcher’s eyes almost popped from his head as he eagerly accepted the ancient weapon. His hands passed reverently over the dark gray blade without actually touching it, then he turned it carefully to test the balance. His face was filled with awe as his eyes rose from the sword and met Nick’s.

“Are you certain about this? It’s Kamakura, hand-forged; it’s priceless.” 

Knight shrugged and nodded, impressed that with little more than a cursory inspection the man had correctly identified the weapon’s origins. “It’s just a sword. But it’s the sharpest one I’ve got. It’ll get the job done.”

“Without doubt. Our little Bantar won’t stand a chance.” His eyes again fell to the blade, judiciously studying the textured layers of dull metal. “Strong.” He mumbled beneath his breath. “She’ll never break in battle. I’ll bring her back to you…I promise.”

“Just bring *yourself* back in one piece.” He countered, disregarding the watcher’s awe of the weapon. “I wish you’d wait for nightfall so I could go with you.”

Wesley shook his head. “Can’t wait. I need to get on this before anyone else ends up dead. The Bantar we faced last night was bad enough, but now we have its angry, bitter mate out there roaming the streets looking for vengeance. It’s probably hiding out in the sewer systems waiting for nightfall before searching for its prey. Hopefully, I can take it out before then.” He slipped Nick’s amulet into his pocket and commented, “If I don’t find the demon, I’m hoping that it will find me.”

Knight reluctantly watched the man go, the long sword hidden stiffly beneath a coat that hopefully wouldn’t appear too out of place in the early spring morning. The entrance to the sewers wasn’t far, and Knight provided a map he obtained years before of the underground systems, so it was unlikely the ex-watcher would get lost. Nick chastised himself, knowing that he probably could have accompanied him since he wasn’t going to be in direct sunlight. But Knight sensed this was something Wesley needed to do on his own. A rite of passage. His first kill since making his decision to continue his life’s calling without the benefit of his “team.”

Nick respected that decision.

But he didn’t like it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Near dusk, Knight’s phone rang and an excited Tracy Vetter informed him they had a break in the case. A young man had been hauled in for questioning on an entirely different matter, a murder, in fact, when the arresting officer found an amulet matching the earlier one discovered on the last victim.

Tracy smugly informed her partner that unlike *some* partners who were hell-bent on keeping confidences and going off on their own without informing anyone of their whereabouts, she thought it was appropriate to phone *her* partner, even though he was still at home and not yet on duty, of the latest developments of their case.

Knight chucked softly to himself, accepting the well-deserved jab without comment, but the smile faded into a grimace when, before she rang off, Tracy informed him that the unrelated reason the young man had been brought in for questioning, was the alleged murder of his father. A gun had been found at the scene….

Registered to one Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.

Knight cringed. The loss of the weapon along with Wesley’s other possessions had obviously been omitted from the report he filed. Nick signed. Wes brought a gun into the country? Of course he did. He was a private investigator traveling from L.A. Still, it aggravated him that Wesley hadn’t told him about the missing weapon. 

Oh, well, at least it was registered.

Only now, it was registered as a murder weapon.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The young man was not cooperating at all and Knight’s frustration was growing by the second. The interrogation room was hot and stuffy. The kid had to be uncomfortable but he met each of Knight’s and Vetter’s questions with hard defiant eyes and wasn’t giving any quarter.

The suspect was young, far too young to be hauled in on suspicion of murder. Fifteen years old. They seemed younger to Knight with each passing year. Kids, who should be planning their futures, collage and beyond were facing felony charges. This one was already hardened far beyond his years, and if suspicion of patricide wasn’t enough, Knight had the added complication of a minor detail – one angry demon roaming the streets of downtown Toronto. 

This kid had one of the amulets and Wesley’s gun on him when they hauled him in for questioning. Apparently, the group that jumped the ex-watcher in the alley was connected to this unfortunate wannabe cult of demon congeners whose members were being knocked off one-by-one by the very forces they sought to harness. 

Knight wanted to tear loose with his questioning, get to the details, but with Tracy present he couldn’t very well ask the young man point blank if he knew where the demon was or tell him just how foolish it was to summon it in the first place. He had to think of a way to word the question that wouldn’t raise Vetter’s suspicions and confirm her belief that he was a nut case. 

But the kid wasn’t budging and Knight’s frustration was growing by the minute.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you kid?” Vetter snapped, her own irritation apparent. “You think it’s real cute, playing games with devil worshipers, Robert?”

The kid’s eyes flew wide and he actually snickered. “Devil worshipers? I don’t worship anybody, much less the devil.”

“You shouldn’t be messing around with such things,” Tracy continued, cutting her eyes in Nick’s direction, unaware that Knight knew anything about the supernatural. She knew about vampires. Did she believe in the existence of demons as well? She preceded cautiously, trying not to alarm her partner and Nick couldn’t help but find it ironic that both of them were being forced to dance around the issue of, “things that go bump in the night,” for fear of alarming each other. “These things can get way out of hand if you’re not careful,” She warned. “Two of your little buddies have already ended up dead. This isn’t a game. Looks like someone’s trying to kill your friends off. You could be next.”

“Wimps.” He snorted and looked away. “It’s been taken care of.”

Something in the young man’s tone disturbed Knight and he leaned across the table, meeting the kid’s eyes with a hard glare. “What do you mean by that, Jenson?”

“It’s taken care of, that’s all. Nothing’s coming after me.”

Vetter frowned. “Just because you’re in lockup doesn’t mean the same crazies going after your friends won’t try to get to you. Your best chance is to start talking and tell us who these friends of yours are and what you’re involved in.”

“It’s not coming after me.” He grumbled, not meeting Vetter’s eyes. “Not unless it’s coming in pieces.”

“We don’t have time for you to talk nonsense,” Tracy snapped. “Two of your friends are dead and your father’s been shot. As it stands right now you’re the only suspect we’ve got and you’re looking more guilty by the minute.”

“I didn’t kill no one! So back off, Lady.”

Knight pushed past his partner and glared into the kid’s face. “What do you mean – pieces?”

He snorted and looked away and it took all the restraint Knight possessed not to seize the young man, slam him up against the wall and demand an explanation. Something about the man’s words made Nick very uneasy. If this hooligan had something dangerous planned against the Bantar that Wesley was tracking it was possible the watcher was unwittingly walking into a trap. He silently cursed the fact that Tracy was in the interrogation room with him and he couldn’t bring his full powers to bear against the suspect to find out just what he planned against the demon who was killing off his cohorts.

An idea occurred to him and he turned to Vetter. “He’s not about to tell us anything. Maybe a night in lockup will change his mind.”

The young man looked uneasy at the suggestion but said nothing.

“Fine.” Tracy threw up her hands. “Lock him up.” She stepped away from the suspect and Knight gabbed the guy’s arm, hauled him to his feet and pushed him toward the door. He stumbled and glared back at Knight who gave him an innocent look then pushed him on through the open door into the hall.

Tracy stepped past them and started down the corridor when in the blink of an eye, Knight’s grip on the guy’s arm tightened to bone-crushing intensity and he jerked the young man back into the interrogation room, slamming him against the wall.

His eyes widened with shock and he opened his mouth to protest but Knight’s eyes blazed amber and the words died on his lips.

The youth’s expression slowly drained of all emotion and he stared blankly at the vampire who softly hissed, “What? Where? And when?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The distinctive clash of steel striking metal reached Knight’s ears as he raced down the stairs and into the basement of the abandoned warehouse. The sound echoed off the damp concrete walls, drawing his attention into the dusty shadows of the dank cellar to the silhouettes of two forms locked in mortal combat against a far wall. Cloaked by the almost impenetrable darkness, only his keen vampire vision was able to discern the distinctive shape of the huge, looming Bantar being faced-down by the tall, slender form of the ex-watcher who wielded his sword with coldly determined skill, striking his opponent in what would have been fatal blows had the creature been human or any less resilient and angry.

Wesley swung. The demon dodged with surprising speed and agility for such a large creature, and the watcher missed his mark, striking the metal pipes against the far wall. But he quickly regained his advantage, whirled and sliced the blade into one of the demon’s multiple arms, severing the appendage. The stench of green ooze filled the dank air.

The Bantar howled in outrage and advanced on the man who took a step back and raised the sword high above his head for a killing blow.

Knight knew his timing couldn’t have been worse but he had no choice. He dove into the fray and shouted, “Forget the demon!” Drawing Wesley’s attention. 

Wesley whirled around, a perturbed expression darkening his face and he missed his mark, the blade striking the Bantar’s shoulder. “Damn it, Knight,” he hissed when the steel hit bone, sending a jarring impact up his arms. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t need your assistance.”

“Leave the demon!” He shouted above the thing’s angry cries reverberating through the void of the cellar.

Wesley frowned in confusion and swung again, driving the creature back toward the stairwell. 

“We have to get out of here! This is a trap. They lured the demon here and this place is set to blow--”

His words were drowned in a sudden ear-shattering eruption as a blast ripped through the stairwell and the ceiling began to crumble overhead. In a rain of smoke and debris, the beams above the demon began to give way as the stairs collapsed, smoke billowing into the room. Through the darkened haze, Knight could see the Bantar look up as the beams began to fall. Wesley was close….

Too close.

Knight yelled out, but his shouts were absorbed in the mayhem and he launched himself toward the man who hadn’t yet caught his bearings in the sudden maelstrom surrounding him.

Knight leaped and shoved the ex-watcher out of the way, slamming him against the far wall and sending him sprawling to the concrete as the ceiling collapsed in a shower of plaster, steel and wooden beams.

Wesley was thrown clear, of that Nick was certain as he felt the impact of debris raining down on him, driving him to the floor and trapping him beneath the rubble…

*I can survive this*….

The thought drifted through his dazed mind when, suddenly, a wooden beam gave way overhead and came crashing down, driving itself through his chest and into the floor. The pain was beyond belief and a scream tore from his lips as agony surged through him.

Reality began to fade in a burst of blinding pain that shot through every fiber of his body. As the room darkened around him, words reached his clouded mind…. 

“Dear god….”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Agony.

It radiated through every inch of his body, pulsating outward from the shaft driven into his chest, mere inches from his unbeating heart. The deadly wood prevented the wound from healing and his dark, rich blood seeped into the broken crevices of the concrete and debris beneath his body, leaving him drained.

How long was he unconscious? He could barely move; it was strange to feel so weak. He tried to move, to push some of the plaster, wood and rubble off his aching body, but he could barely manage the strength to open his eyes and stare upward into the smoke-filled haze above him as he struggled to get his bearings. He was buried beneath an avalanche of concrete, steel and wood. It should have been simple to dislodge it, but it wasn’t. He was so weak he could hardly move and the beam protruding from his chest had him pinned down to the floor. The pain was intense and he struggled to remain conscious as the oblivion of darkness, offering release from the agony, fought to pull him down….

Knight surrendered.


	7. 7/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Someone was moving around. 

Slowly, reality crept into Knight’s consciousness as he sensed a presence digging through the rubble to reach him. Without opening his eyes, he sniffed the stale air and the familiar scent of the watcher reached his senses. Wounded and more vulnerable than he’d been in a long time, the vampire’s natural instinct was to feel threatened by the presence of a mortal, but strangely it was oddly comforting to sense Wesley near and to know that he was slowly digging through the debris to save him. He inhaled deeply and caught the unmistakable fragrance of warm, rich blood. Was Wesley injured? He opened his eyes and peered through the haze as the rubble was slowly moved away.

“Nick?”

The watcher’s face swam into focus above him. His glasses were slightly bent and a nasty bruise darkened one of his eyes. His cheek beneath the eye was torn and bleeding. 

The scent of even this small amount of blood was intoxicating to the drained vampire and a growl escaped his throat, surprising them both. 

Wesley froze and his eyes widened. The pupils in the deep blue orbs were fully dilated and it occurred to Nick that the mortal could barely see him in the darkness. The basement was dim even before the explosion and now the air was thick with lingering smoke.

“Hey…Wes.” He choked the words out in a whisper and he could sense the man relax as he leaned closer and peered into Knight’s face.

“Hey yourself.”

“You look like crap, Watcher.”

Wesley leaned even closer, shoving the last of the debris aside and he grimaced at the sight of the shaft piercing the vampire’s chest. “Yes. I rather suppose I do. Some asshole shoved me into a wall.”

“I guess our demon friend was killed in the blast?”

Wesley shook his head and looked past where Knight lay pinned to the floor. Nick turned his head and saw the mangled remains of the Bantar trapped beneath a pile of concrete and steel, decapitated. His bloodied Samurai sword lay near by, green sludge glistening on the blade.

“It was hardly a sporting kill, I’m afraid. But one could say that at least I put it out of its misery.” Wes added quietly.

The stench of the creature permeated the suffocating confines of the basement and Nick was grateful for the fact that he didn’t need to breathe. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his friend who was studying him with concerned eyes when he turned back to face him. “Nick…” He hesitated. “I’ve got to try and get that thing out of you.” He nodded toward the beam. 

“I would be most grateful.” He smiled weakly. “I take it, we’re trapped here.”

“The explosion took out the stairwell and I haven’t been able to locate any other exit.”

“The kids who set this trap would have been certain there was only one way out. We have a young man in lockup who was involved with the group who summoned the demon. They used the amulets to lure it here, hoping to blow it back to hell.” He was surprised how much energy it took to force the words out and he dropped his head back to the floor and squeezed his eyes shut. The pain was excruciating. 

“I’m going to have to get that out.” 

The soft English tones penetrated the fog of his brain and he found Wesley’s voice strangely soothing. He nodded numbly without reopening his eyes and trusted his fate to the hands of this mortal.

“Sorry.”

Wesley leaned near and squeezed his shoulder, then he felt the ex-watcher take a firm grip on the wooden shaft, and using the strength of his entire body, he pulled with all his weight….

Pain ripped through him as the beam shifted partway but still remained lodged in his body. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. Wesley felt bad enough about hurting him as it was. Knight was trembling violently.

The man braced himself, caught his breath and yanked again…

The shaft didn’t budge.

By now Knight was wishing the damn thing *had* hit his heart.

Wesley cursed beneath his breath and the vampire could smell the salt of sweat mingling with the aroma of his blood as he gripped the wood and braced his foot against Knight’s chest. “Forgive me,” he whispered and yanked with all his strength. 

The shaft finally pulled free and a scream tore from Nick’s throat.

The room began to blacken….

…Darkness rose to claim him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Reality slowly returned; it crept into his brain and he began to sense awareness of the world around him. He was weak. Too weak. The vampire instinctively longed to crawl into a dark secluded place to tend his wounds and regain his strength. The beating of a human heart, steady and strong, reached his ears and suddenly a warm hand touched his shoulder. His eyes flew wide….

He hissed and lunged from the shadows.

The human gasped as a blaze of amber eyes and a flash of fangs sprang from the darkness into his face. He stumbled back and almost fell.

A surge of fear rose to taint the air and Knight drew the scent into his lungs. It mingled with a familiar smell. The ex-watcher….

“Wesley?”

“Welcome back, Detective Knight.” There was a hint of amusement in Wesley’s tone as he caught his breath and settled back onto his haunches. 

“Brabant, actually,” he responded softly, sitting up and leaning weakly against the wall.

“Excuse me?”

“My name. My true name, really, is Nicholas de Brabant.” He surprised himself by confessing this to Wesley who he could see, sitting on the floor several feet away, his legs drawn up and his arms lightly resting on his knees. It was doubtful that Nick was much more than a darkened blur to the ex-watcher’s mortal eyes that stared unseeing into the void around him. The basement was murky before the explosion, but now that the access to the world above had collapsed, the scant light it provided was gone as well. This didn’t bother Knight who could see perfectly, but it left the human at a distinct disadvantage. 

“Nicholas de Brabant,” the man repeated quietly. “I’m honored that you would trust me with your true name.”

Knight almost laughed when something in the sincerity of Wesley’s tone and the expression on his face caused him to pause. “Angelus? Did you ever learn his given name?”

“Liam.” His voice fell to a whisper. “William, in English. It’s not in the Watcher journals, but there are far more extensive means of unearthing information than simply the journals, if one is diligent enough.”

Was that Wesley’s way of saying that Angelus never confided his Christian name to him? He resisted the temptation to ask and commented, instead, “For once, I’ve got to agree with Tracy. I *am* always running off on my own without telling my partner. I’m afraid; I have to confess that no one’s looking for us. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”

“I suspected as much.”

“I suppose, we could actually get lucky. Someone might report the explosion.”

“This place is pretty isolated and the blast was fairly localized. Still…”

“My cell phone!” The realization jolted Nick’s muddled and tired brain. “Sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.” His hand went to his breast pocket and he snatched out the modern device. Unfortunately, it fell apart in his hand. He pushed a few buttons in desperation. Nothing. He sighed. “It’s amazing what a falling ceiling will do to a cell these days.” Then he realized Wes couldn’t see what he was doing in the dark and he quickly explained. “It’s broken. Sorry.”

The ex-watcher dropped his head and rested his forehead against his up drawn knees. “It’s a shame this isn’t Gilliagan’s Island and I’m not the professor. We could work miracles with a busted cell phone and a couple of discarded banana peels I found on the floor earlier.”

The comment coming from the usually staid young Englishman took Nick by surprise. “Gilliagan’s Island! Somehow I can’t picture you watching that.”

“You’d be surprised how many times they rerun that on Nick at Nite during the day when one is too inebriated to pick up the remote and change the channel.” He commented lightly, but there wasn’t much humor in his tone and in the fact that he didn’t raise his head.

“Wes, what the hell happened between you and Angelus?” The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back and he immediately regretted asking when silence fell in the suffocating confines of the basement. A bitter laugh cut the gloom and he glanced over at the man who didn’t raise his head, but left it resting on his knees.

“What happened? I suppose you could say, someone I considered to be my best friend tried to murder me while I was in hospital. A halfhearted attempt, to be sure, but it felt quite real at the time and in most of the nightmares I’ve had since. And while I’ve debated endlessly these past lonely months as to whether it was justified or whether, given those circumstances, I might not have done the same, it’s done little to alleviate the dreams or the knowledge that Angel had to have known how I felt about…” He drew a deep breath and whispered. “…. The dark. It would have been far more merciful had he chosen to snap my neck, and he knew it. Still, he chose to suffocate me after my throat was slashed. He had to have known…he knew about the closet under the stairs….” His words trailed and the man fell silent.

Nick sat quietly in the darkness, regretting the fact that he violated this man on such an intimate level by asking these questions in an environment that must have intensified his feelings of vulnerability. His companion had to be on edge. He looked toward the rubble of the collapsed stairwell. If he were at full strength it would be possible for him to remove the obstruction and free them. In centuries past, he’d dug himself out of more than one cave-in. But as it was, he could barely stand and his hunger was growing by the minute.

Wesley raised his head and stared into the gloom, the blue of his eyes lost in the pitch of his pupils straining to peer into the room. The man looked weary and older than his years. Knight allowed his gaze to pass slowly over the jagged scar that glared at him through the dim, the surge of warm blood pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin. 

The human turned and stared in his direction, instinctively aware that he was being watched by a predator. “I suppose, now is as good a time as any to start looking for a ventilation shaft or an underground opening for the sewers. Although, I don’t recall seeing one on the map,” he commented, but he made no move to rise, just continued to sit with his chin propped on his knees. “You lost a great deal of blood. You’ll need to feed soon.”

Knight was stunned by the bluntness of the comment. “Nat would call it a test of endurance,” he responded dryly. “She’s always trying to convert me to solid food.”

Now it was Wesley’s turn to look surprised. “Solid food? But you’re a vampire. Why should you eat solid food?”

“She’s convinced that if I eat and live like a mortal long enough, I’ll become mortal again.”

Wesley chuckled softly and shook his head. “You can feed a mouse peanuts all day long, but he’ll never become an elephant.”

Nick laughed at the unexpected candor of the remark. In a sense, that’s what he’d been trying to tell Natalie for years, but she was insistent. It was refreshing to hear someone else echo those sentiments.

“There’s always a prophecy,” the ex-watcher mumbled under his breath. “I’ll have to research this when we get out of here. I didn’t know you existed, but if you’ve been seeking redemption all these years there must be a prophecy somewhere concerning you.”

“A prophecy?” He frowned in confusion.

“There’s always a prophecy,” he repeated. “Although, as of late, my luck has been less than stellar with regard to them.”

“You would do this…for me? Why?”

“It’s what I do…or rather *did.* It might be nice to actually do a bit of research for someone who appreciated it.” A hint of bitterness crept into his tone. 

Was it possible that a prophecy might hold the key to *everything* he was searching for? It was too much to hope for, and that this man would be willing to help him was hard to believe. 

“His son…” Wesley’s voice rose softly through the dim. “I stole his son. How can any man be expected to forgive such a thing?”

Nick frowned. “Whose son?”

“Angel’s.”

“WHAT?” He gasped unable to believe what he was hearing. The loss of blood must be affecting his mind as well as his body. “Did you say that Angelus had a son?”

“’The Father Will Kill The Son.’ That was the damned prophecy. At least I thought that it was, and I know I interpreted it correctly. I don’t understand how or why Angel was able to father a child. I was working night and day on those damned Scrolls, trying to unravel the mystery of Connor’s origins. I hadn’t much sleep in days prior to my decision to take the child. I’m still not certain if he’s good or evil, but I do know that I was trying to save his life when I took him. My throat was slashed and he was stolen from my arms…” Wesley’s voice trailed into silence and he looked away.

The vampire sat in a stupor. A child? A vampire fathering a child? Could such a thing be true? It was unbelievable. But over the centuries Knight learned to accept the fact that the impossible often became possible. Maybe powers beyond themselves had a hand in this. Fate very often held the cards of life and jealously guarded them from the prying eyes of both mortals and vampires alike. As incredible as it seemed, if Wesley said that it was true, then he would accept it as fact and ponder the particulars later…

After they were free from this place.

He needed to get them out of here before his growing hunger became an issue. He struggled to rise to his feet, but found that he couldn’t. He was just too weak. He slumped back against the cool concrete of the wall and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, he sensed Wesley’s presence at his side and he opened his eyes and found the man staring into his face. The warmth of the mortal so close was overwhelming and Nick backed away. “Wes…I don’t think you should…”

“You need to feed,” he said bluntly, without inflection. “You can get us out of here, can’t you?”

“Possibly. But there’s no guarantee.” He continued to back away. “Wesley, you really shouldn’t be this close. I…”

In an instant, the sword was in his hand and the man sliced his palm; it glistened crimson in the dark. “Feed.”

 

Tbc…


	8. 8/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Nick gasped and recoiled from the offered palm pooled with blood. “Are you *insane!*”

“Feed,” The ex-watcher repeated firmly. 

“No!” He pushed himself into the shadows against the wall as if he could disappear into the crevices through sheer force of will. 

“It’s the only way we’re getting out of here.” Wesley’s tone held no room for argument. “Besides, if we don’t do something soon to alleviate your condition, I won’t be left with the option of making the offer. If we’re stuck here long enough, you’ll lose control. Take it…*damn it.*” 

He shoved his blood-filled hand into the vampire’s face and even as Nick recoiled he could feel the familiar ache pulsating along his jaw. His eyes began to blaze. “You don’t understand what you’re offering.” He continued to protest as the heady scent fought to draw him closer to the enticing source. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“As an ex-watcher who has just spent the last three years of his life with a vampire, I most certainly do know what I’m offering.” He held out his palm.

Nick violently slapped it aside and blood splattered the ex-watcher’s shoulder and the soft, white skin of his throat. It taunted the vampire, its aroma unbearable. “…Please…Wes,” he gasped. “You don’t understand what this is doing to me.”

“I understand. I have to do this.” He repeated firmly and heedless of the blood splattering him, he again offered his hand. “Take just enough to curb the bloodlust, enough to give you strength. You can do this, Nick.”

“You don’t know! I might not be able to stop…”

“You’ll stop,” he repeated decisively, and without flinching, he continued to hold out his hand, the palm pooling with glistening, life-giving blood.

The vampire swallowed and began to tremble. “Please…”

“You can do this,” he repeated softly. “I trust you.”

“You hardly know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. What horrible things I’ve done.” Nick shuddered and turned away from the blood that whispered and beckoned to him. The fragrance of the watcher’s unique blood was ambrosia dancing through the veins of his body and Nick desired nothing more than to enfold this man in his deadly embrace, crush his slender body against him and sink his fangs into his throat next to the scar that mocked him from the shadows, to lick his tongue against the salt of his skin, to inhale the emotion laced with pain that emanated from the man. “I…mustn’t…”

*Petit sips*…

The vampire swallowed hard, his eyes blazed amber as they locked on the pool of blood that now overflowed, trickling along the man’s pale arm. Calling…

Suddenly, he wanted this man with a burning desire he hadn’t felt in years. Not just the gift of life he freely offered but the unquestioning trust he saw reflected in the serenity of the clear blue eyes behind the glasses. Wesley had no reason to trust him. A cold, bloodthirsty predator. Yet he did. It was hard to remember any mortal, knowing his true demonic visage, who had shown such trust. His eyes locked on the scarlet flow. *Holy mother of god,* he wanted this gift….

He wanted this mortal!

The realization jolted him and he stumbled back, trying to look away from Wesley.

Wesley frowned in confusion. “It’s all right,” he soothed as if speaking to a child. “It’ll be all right.”

“*Wes*…” The name ripped from his lips as a plea and he lunged for the man’s hand and buried his face in the palm. He lapped the blood, drinking like a dying man. It raced along his senses, wrenching the beast from the depths of his soul.

A hiss tore from his throat as he felt his fangs grow erect and he lapped the vestiges of blood from the skin, struggling for more, longing to tear into the warm flesh but fighting for control. Wesley’s hand, clasped in his, trembled beneath his lips and he raised his eyes and met the human’s gaze.

Wesley’s eyes were slightly glazed, one eye darkened by an ugly bruise and the tear along his cheek, but he held the vampire’s look without flinching. Nick searched the depths of blue and found what he was longing for…

Submission.

He yanked the man close, shoved up his sleeve and buried his fangs into his forearm, drawing deeply from the fount that sprang into his mouth. He moaned as the rich, warm blood of a living, willing mortal raced into his veins, unlike anything he savored in centuries. Strength returned to his tired limbs and his senses grew keen, intoxicated by the power surging through the ex-watcher’s veins. Power and desire that flowed off the man in waves…

A moan penetrated the ecstasy washing through his brain and he stared to pull free, not wanting to hurt the man, when a hand firmly gripped the back of his head and held him fast to the wound. The warmth, the taste, was overwhelming. The steady beat of a human heart pulsed in rhythm to the draught he pulled. Wesley was strong and the vampire could sense no faltering in his heart’s pace as he fought to control the burning desire to drink his fill, to clutch the watcher to his chest and claim him fully…eternally.

Suddenly, a rush of memories fought to overwhelm him….

*Blood spilling on the ground, crying out from the earth in anguish. Loneliness. Despair. The strength to survive drawn from the hope of comfort and love that never came.*

Darkness tore at Knight’s heart, fighting to pull him under, but he pushed it aside when he realized, these were Wesley’s memories assaulting his mind, memories of emptiness…abandonment…

He forced them down and submerged himself in the power of the blood. Crimson drops dancing through his veins, the glorious, wondrous fount of life. Blood was everything and everything was blood.

He was stunned by the intensity of need that raced through him as he gripped the arm and drank deeply, his mouth locked against the salty, firm flesh of the man’s forearm. His strength returned in force but the desire to feed didn’t abate, it only intensified with each pull of the rich blood into his mouth. It sang through his veins, mingling with the beast…

He groaned and an undulating rhythm of moans rose to merge with the sounds emanating from his throat as he fed. Wesley was trembling violently beneath the pull of his lips, and groaning softly with each draught of blood pulled from his veins. The vampire needed to stop, to pull away while he still could, before…

Nick wrenched his fangs from the succulent flesh and Wesley slipped from his grasp, ragged breaths torn from his throat. The ex-watcher fought to catch his breath as he sat back on the floor and slowly regained awareness of the room around him. He drew his knees to his chest and dropped his face into his hands, breathing deeply.

“Wes?”

“I’m all right.” He didn’t raise his head.

The vampire inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of the elixir still lingering in the air. The warmth of Wesley’s blood surged through his veins, merging with his own, making the watcher a part of him forever. The fragrance was intoxicating, it beckoned to the beast, but Nick conquered the desire to consummate his claim on his companion and instead allowed himself to merely relish the memory of his life’s precious essence dancing on his tongue. A gift beyond compare. He couldn’t believe any mortal would freely offer such a thing. But Wesley was not just any mortal.

Angelus was a fool.

The ex-watcher didn’t raise his head, but sat silently regarding the floor, drawing deep soothing breaths into his lungs. His arms wrapped around his up-drawn legs.

Nick frowned and shifted near. “Wes, are you sure that you’re….” He caught a heady scent mingling with the sweetness of the blood in the air and his words trailed. “Wes?” He leaned closer and rested his hand against his friend’s knee.

Wesley jerked as if startled and peered up through the darkness that surrounded them. “I’m alright.” He chuckled softly, but without any mirth. “An unfortunate side-effect, nothing more. I was a watcher; trust me, I knew this could happen.”

“Wes, I--”

“Please, don’t insult me by apologizing. It’ll pass. Just give me some privacy.” He ran his hands through his hair, the darkened curls dampened by sweat coiling in disarray around his fingers. Combined with the blackened eye and the slightly bent glasses perched on his nose, it lent him an air of vulnerability and youth that Nick knew was merely an illusion. This was a strong and determined adult male. “Privacy,” he repeated softly, dropping his eyes.

“I wasn’t going to offer an apology.” He slipped closer to the mortal, savoring the warmth that radiated from his body, and the fragrance that permeated the soft, pale flesh of his throat that pulsed with the rhythm of his heart. He suddenly desired this man in ways he hadn’t thought possible. “Wes, let me….” He reached for the erection straining against the fabric of his trousers…

“*What’re you doing?*” He jerked away, the eyes behind his spectacles wide. 

“Something I haven’t wanted to do in centuries,” he breathed, resting his hand against the man’s thigh. “If you’d permit me--”

“I’m quite fine, *thank you,*” he hissed. “I don’t require your *assistance* or your pity.”

It was Nick’s turn to look surprised. “That was hardly my intention, I assure you.” He returned his hand to Wesley’s up-drawn knee. “This is something that I want to do, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s something that you want, as well.”

Wesley pulled in his breath and held it, uncertain what to say. His eyes locked on the vampire’s face, but he didn’t pull away. 

“Wesley…let me…” His hand slipped slowly down the man’s thigh until he reached the incredible warmth of his erection pushing against the restraints of his trousers. He pressed his palm against it, overwhelmed by the wondrous heat of living flesh, pulsating beneath his hand. Wesley sat frozen, watching him with wide, incredulous eyes. The heat was beyond belief, scorching to the vampire’s cool touch. He reached for the zipper…

Wesley grabbed his hand. “Nick, I…”

“Let me…please.” The vampire fought to project his most disarming air and was rewarded when the man’s resistance began to melt beneath his gaze and the stroke of his insistent hand. 

“It’s been…” Wesley swallowed hard. “It’s been so long since anyone…touched me.” He sighed and shifted back, slowly lowering his up drawn legs and permitting the touch, but his expression was guarded. He allowed his companion to unfasten his trousers and carefully lower the zipper. His breath hitched as Nick began to slightly tug his trousers lower on his hips, tugging them lower still, then reaching for the band on his cotton briefs. Wesley’s eyes grew wider when Nick gently reached beneath the band of his briefs and lightly stroked the tip of his cock with cool agile fingers. It jerked beneath Nick’s touch and Wesley gasped.

“So *cold*…”

“I’m sorry.” He started to withdraw, but the man grabbed his hand.

“*No*…please, don’t.” Wes squeezed his eyes shut and began to tremble. “It’s cold…so cold.” He tightened his grip on Nick’s hand and encouraged the vampire to run his fingers down the length of the shaft as far as the fabric of his briefs would allow, which wasn’t far enough. He shifted his weight, and kicking off his shoes, allowed the vampire to divest him of his trousers before seizing Nick’s hand again and running it down his throbbing cock to gently cup the searing heat of his balls. His body jerked at the touch and he sighed, settling back onto his elbows.

*So this is what you want.* Nick smiled softly in the darkness and cradled the vulnerable weight lightly in his palm, relishing the warmth and surge of blood that pulsed though the mortal’s body. He gently squeezed and Wesley cried out, his cock growing harder beneath the contact. Nick was concerned that the coolness of his touch might deter from the man’s enjoyment, but in fact, it seemed to intensify his pleasure. This both intrigued and thrilled the vampire who began to gently roll the man’s balls in his hand then to tug lightly against their weight. Wesley moaned and thrust his hips toward the source of pleasure. Nick ran his hand up the straining shaft that jumped eagerly toward his touch….

“Cool,” Wesley murmured beneath his breath, too low for a mere mortal to hear. “God, I always knew it would be like this.”

Nick’s hand slightly faltered when the realization hit him in the chest like a stake.

*Angelus* 

No wonder Wesley was so devastated by his estrangement from the vampire. He felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. His feelings ran much deeper than mere friendship. The ex-watcher was in love with the ungrateful son of a bitch. Was he even aware of his depth of affection, Nick wondered, or in denial as mortals often were? 

He grasped the man’s cock firmly in his hand and stroked downward along its impressive length, longing to tell him he was worthy of so much more than Angelus would ever be willing to offer. He began to pump the shaft with firm, even stokes and Wesley rocked his hips upward, moaning softly. 

*You’re worth so much more than this.*

The scent of human, male arousal mingled with the savory essence of his blood and despite his best intentions Nicholas felt the beast surge in his chest as he continued to stroke the man’s cock that almost burned his hand with its wondrous heat. Wesley’s lean body tensed with exertion as he thrust his hips into the fist that gripped him, his strong jaw held rigid, sweat glistening across his brow, his eyes squeezed shut as he pumped into the hand.

“God….yes.”

Was he imagining Angelus touching him like this? Nick wondered with a sudden tinge of emotion. Then he chastised himself for the thought. What did it matter? He wanted to bring his companion pleasure and relieve the sexual tension his feeding caused. If imagining that Angelus was here with him helped him to achieve that gratification, why should it matter? The man’s cock surged with blood and he stroked harder, bringing him closer to that moment of sweet release that all mortals craved…

Suddenly, Wesley grabbed his hand and stilled the movement. “Nick?” he moaned softly and pulled him up next to his face. 

Nick frowned in confusion. He could feel the passion pulsing off the man in waves, so it couldn’t be a lack of desire that prompted the interruption when the man was so clearly close to coming. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head and opened his eyes, focusing on the vampire’s face. “Please…” He breathed, fighting to catch his breath. “Would you….feed from me…” He grabbed Nick’s hand and forced it downward to the soft crook of his inner thigh, to the artery surging with life next to his groin. “…Here?”

Nick’s eyes opened wide in surprise and a wave of desire washed over him. He couldn’t believe he heard what he heard.

“*Please*…”

It was all the encouragement he needed. The beast roared from his throat and he reared back his head, hissed and lunged down between the man’s legs, sinking his fangs into the tender flesh next to the cock that brushed his cheek. 

Wesley screamed and fell back onto the floor, trembling with arousal. “Dear god!”

He sucked deeply, drawing the watcher’s blood into his mouth and he moaned. Wesley’s moans echoed with his as he thrust his hips upward in rhythm to the pull of the vampire’s lips locked on his flesh. Nicholas reached for the man’s cock, encircled it with his hand, and Wesley cried out again when he began to pump.

Wesley jerked violently, pushing into the cool circle of flesh that surrounded him, and reaching down, he grabbed the back of Nick’s head, fingers digging into his hair, encouraging the ministrations of his mouth working against his inner thigh and the draw of blood from his veins. Nick was inflamed with passion, not only from the madding desire for the blood, but because Wesley would trust him enough to offer himself this way. It was beyond belief. His wildest dreams. He pumped Wesley harder, in rhythm to the ever-increasing whimpers and moans coming from the human’s throat, and he carefully monitored his heartbeat that raced strongly in his chest. He mustn’t take too much. This mortal was infinitely precious and he would rather die than harm him.

Where did such sentiments come from? Nick wondered, but the thought quickly dissolved as Wesley continued to moan, thrusting into his hand, his climax drawing near…

He longed to press his lips to the fine whisper of scars that marred the blue-white beauty of the young man’s lean body. A scattering of brush-stroke scars across his thin chest, where Nick had unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, a deeper indention in his side and the trail of thin lashes that marked his back pressed flat against the cold floor. To stroke his tongue along the marks and claim them, to drink from the angry scar against the pale throat. 

To drain the foolish mortals who dared to put those marks on his flesh in the first place. He could envision a few delicious indignities he would love to inflict upon each of them, in turn, especially the creature capable of committing such atrocities upon his son’s body…

*Petite sips.* 

He couldn’t afford to take more so he slowly stemmed his passion and tapered the flow. He gently removed his fangs and worked the wound with his mouth, relishing the taste and grateful that it didn’t seem to diminish Wesley’s pleasure in the least. In fact, it intensified as his firm, muscular body strained beneath him, slamming into the thrust of his hand. Moans wrenched from Wesley’s throat as Nick used his tongue to lap the flow of blood from the delicate crease of his thigh. Then, taking a risk he wasn’t certain of; he slipped his other hand beneath the weight of Wesley’s balls, between the cheeks of his ass and gently probed the delicate flesh at the entrance of his body. 

Wesley shuddered and pushed toward the cool finger and not away, his rhythm growing frenzied as he drew closer to his release. Nick took it as a positive sign, and used his finger to work the burning entrance to the man’s body, gently teasing the sensitive flesh as he continued to suck on the wound. Wesley shuddered and his thrusts became frantic…

Knowing the end was near; Nick squeezed the burning cock, stroked a final time and smoothly slipped his cool finger inside the man’s body. Wesley jerked in surprise and cried out as his body lunged completely off the cold concrete floor with the intensity of his orgasm. He screamed and shouted out a name…

It wasn’t Angelus.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You’re fairly certain that you can get us out of here?” Wesley slowly rose to his feet and brushed off the legs of his trousers before scooping down to pick up his shirt.

“Pretty certain. I’ve dug myself out of worse predicaments. I’m not up to full strength but close enough.” Nick studied the curve of the man’s pale back as he bent to retrieve his shirt from the floor. His eyes slowly traced the almost invisible line of scars across his skin, and he felt an unexpected surge of anger.

Wesley turned, slipped on his shirt and moved to button it when Nick reached over and began to fasten the top button. 

Wesley’s eyes widened and Nick froze.

“I *am* capable of dressing myself, Detective,” he responded dryly.

Nick started to withdraw when a hint of humor in Wesley’s expression made him bold enough to say, “I just thought that since I helped remove it, it was the least I could do.” Knight resumed fastening the buttons and Wesley allowed it without further comment. “We have a young man in lockup who might be able to shed some light on your missing possessions. Since it looks as if the same group who jumped you in the alley might be the idiots who summoned our demon friend.” 

Wesley nodded and took a step back when Nick finished buttoning his shirt. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Considering the fact that the force owes you a debt of gratitude it can never repay. I don’t see why not.” He glanced toward the mangled remains of the Bantar lying decapitated beneath a pile of rubble. “I suppose, it wouldn’t be a lie to consider you an outside consultant.”

Wesley laughed softly. “Then I guess now’s as good a time as any to tackle that.” He inclined his head toward the collapsed stairwell. An insurmountable task for a mere human, but not for a vampire, even one not fully up to strength.

“I suppose it is.” Nick commented, but neither man moved. They stood in the dusty darkness of the basement and studied one another in silence as the minutes slowly passed.

Nick’s eyes moved over the slightly bent spectacles propped on the man’s nose, the blackened eye, his bruised and torn cheek, and he was suddenly seized with the unexpected desire to crush him to his chest and press his mouth against those thin, somewhat arrogant lips…

He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to kiss a man, a mortal man, no less. 

It was a good way to get a fist in your nose.

Wesley had shown no indication that he was attracted to members of the same gender or that he felt an inclination to act on any such desire if he possessed one. As a Watcher, he was trained to be aware of the fact that an infatuation with a vampire was by no means an indication of sexual orientation. Even if the vampire in question happened to be male as Angelus was. It was very possible that Wesley had never experienced an intimate encounter with a mortal man.

Or wanted to.

Nick turned toward the stair way collapsed beneath a pile of debris, beams and rubbish blocking their path. “I guess I need to get started.”

“Nick?”

He turned back and found the ex-watcher studying him with an unreadable expression on his slightly haggard face. “I just wanted to say, thank you…” When Nick frowned he hurried to add. “For saving my life. If you hadn’t shoved me out of the way, it’s likely that I wouldn’t have made it out of this alive.”

Knight opened his mouth to say, *It was nothing.* Then he realized it was, indeed, a very important *something.* Wesley’s life was far more important than the ex-watcher was taught by those around him to believe. He searched for the words to tell him that a man who was willing to risk his life to stalk and kill a deadly demon for no other reason than to protect a city full of total strangers, who would never know or care what he risked to save them, was a man whose life was definitely worth saving.

He opened up his mouth to say, *Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you’re a good man*….

But the words never came…

Instead, he leaned near, crushed the man’s warm, lean body to his chest and pressed his lips to his astonished mouth…

Wesley didn’t slug him.


	9. 9/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The young man sat in defiant silence, his eyes fixed, obstinately, on the two-way mirror. Vetter bit her lip in frustration and opened her mouth to speak when Knight interrupted.

“Robert.” He leaned against the table, his expression amenable. “How about a coffee?”

Robert glared.

“A cigarette?”

Vetter’s eyes widened in surprise.

The young man huffed and looked aside.

“Listen, Jenson, cut the crap, it’s late and we’re tired,” Vetter snapped impatiently. “You’ve got a rap-sheet a mile high--”

“Petty crap. No big deal.”

“A record’s a record. Now daddy dearest winds up dead next to a revolver wiped of prints.”

“Good riddance.” His face hardened. “You come to offer me a medal?”

“Robert.” Knight leaned near; his eyes passed over the boy’s face. Young. Too young to be so hardened by life. Fifteen years old. “Your father was found dead, two bullet holes to the head. Forensics reports a .38 caliber at close range did the deed, and the lab reports negative on prints. You’ve got to cooperate with this investigation unless you want to be considered our only suspect.”

“The bastard got what he deserved.” His dark eyes filled with loathing. “Someone did society a favor. That’s all I know.”

“You may wish to have your attorney present.”

“Yeah, like I told you people already when you drug me in here yesterday. I got me a big fancy lawyer. Not. Don’t want one. Don’t need one.”

“He was your *father*.” Vetter responded in outrage. “How can you be so cold?”

“You don’t know nothin’, lady,” Robert hissed, venting his anger in her direction.

“Easy now.” Knight’s hand slipped to the young man’s shoulder. “We understand.”

“Like hell!” He whipped in Knight’s direction, slapped his hand from his shoulder. “Get your hands off me. Police brutality.”

“I’ll show you police brutality, you little brat.” Vetter moved to step between the youth and her partner.

Knight raised his hand to ward her off; his eyes whispered, *Let me handle it.*

Vetter’s lips pressed thin but she backed off.

“You and your father didn’t get along, I take it.” Knight continued, in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

“That’s the understatement of the decade. Unlike little primrose-butt, here,” he shot a glare in Vetter’s direction, “Life at the Jenson’s wasn’t a rerun of, ‘Father Knows Best’.”

Tracy held her anger in check with a visible effort.

Knight continued softly, “The two of you…fought?”

“So what of it? My old man, he drank a lot. The old woman’s dead. Guess he needed a new punchin’ bag.”

“He struck you?”

Robert rolled his eyes skyward and quipped, “Heaven’s no. Whatever gave you such an outlandish idea?” He snorted with indignation. “*Pulverized* is more like it. First it was the homework thing, you know. Then the late-night thing with my friends. Then it was….” The kid shrugged. “Who knows. You tell me, hot shot.”

Nick slipped next to the youth and sat on the edge of the table. “Life was pretty rough.”

“You don’t know nothin’,” he flared in outrage. “You sit here in your fancy red-silk shirt with your girlie-girl partner and your cushy little life. You know nothing about what it’s like to come home, night after night, to some bastard who’s got nothin’ better to do than use you as a human punchin’ bag. It might be different if the bum was a boxer in training. At least then he would have had an income, instead of sponging off my sister who works her butt off at the diner to keep a roof over our heads.”

The detective dipped his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Listen--”

“No, you listen. The bum’s dead and I’m glad. You hear me, I’m glad! Night after night he beat the crap outa me--”

“You don’t know what I do and don’t know!” He grabbed the boy in a sudden flash of anger that stunned the youth coming from a man whose demeanor seemed almost serene until this moment. Since he had no memory of the earlier incident where Knight used his power to manipulate his mind, the aggression stunned him. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

The young man swallowed hard, taken by surprise by the venom in Knight’s tone. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like…” His eyes filled with pain and his voice broke.

“Don’t bet on it.”

“It wasn’t the beatin’.” Robert pulled in his breath: his eyes fell into Knight’s intense blue gaze. “It wasn’t that, at all…” He dropped his head.

Vetter moved near, intrigued by the turn of events, the youth’s sudden submission, the intensity of longing in her partner’s gaze.

“I know,” Nick whispered.

“He was supposed to *love* me.” The words ripped from the boy’s soul. “He was my *father*…”

Knight turned and gazed toward the smoked glass separating the interrogation room from the observation room where he knew Wesley stood watching the exchange. “I know,” he breathed and sank to the chair next to the young man. “I know…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

He could sense Wesley watching them from beyond the glass. Feel his eyes fixed on the exchange, unblinking. Knight could ‘hear’ the steady beating of his strong heart. He begged his friend to go back to the loft and get a few hours sleep, to recover from the ordeal of the last few hours and his blood loss, but the ex-watcher was nothing if not stubborn. And strong.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was definitely strong. In both body and will.

Rugged and unkempt, fatigued but heedless of the looks his bedraggled appearance caught from Knight’s fellow officers, Wesley wanted to see this thing through, to understand this young man’s motivation. The demons were dead. But what twisted impetus had prompted these young people to summon it in the first place?

But the direction this investigation was taking was increasingly disturbing to Nick and he suddenly wished his friend had gone back to the apartment.

Knight turned away from the glass.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I know.” Knight’s hand slipped to Robert’s shoulder, where it lingered.

“I trusted him.” The words rasped from the young man’s lips. “He was all that I had. It wasn’t right for him to do me like that.”

“No.” He solemnly shook his head. “It wasn’t right.”

“What do you know about it?” He ripped free from the detective’s touch and turned glaring eyes in Nick’s direction. “To have someone you trust betray you like that. Knock ya around for the hell of it.”

Knight drew a deep unneeded breath – held it.

“You don’t know crap!”

“What your father did was wrong,” he preceded calmly. “But what’s important now is finding his killer.”

“What’s so damned important about it,” the kid hissed. “Unless you’re passing out good-citizenship awards.”

“Patricide is reprehensible!” Detective Vetter slapped her palms onto the table and glared into the young man’s face. “Fess up, kid. What do you know about this?”

“Nothin’. And stop throwing those fancy words at me.” He turned on Vetter. “You ever been knocked around, lady? Well until you’ve kissed the dust a few times, spit out a few teeth, you got no room to judge.”

“Then you’re saying that you murdered your father?” Tracy forced a false calm into her tone.

Knight could detect the racing of her pulse through the veins of her slender neck as she faced the youth down. He tore his eyes from her throat and cast his senses outward, beyond the smoked-glass of the interrogation room, and caught the rapid rhythm of Wesley’s heartbeat.

“Tell me about it, Jenson,” she baited. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to hate your old man enough to want him *dead,* do ya?” He sprang to his feet and lunged toward her.

Nick grabbed his arm, held him back. “You don’t want to do that. Bad move.”

His eyes fell to the iron grip restraining him; a frown creased his brow and he sat back down. He studied the detective with guarded respect, having no memory of his earlier encounter with the vampire’s strength. “You’re stronger than you look, man.”

“And ‘might makes right.’ Is that the way it is?”

“You got it.”

“Wrong, *man.*”

“I suppose you’ve got all the answers, Mister Detective.”

Nick solemnly shook his head. “The world’s a pretty unfair place--”

“Tell me about it.”

“But one thing’s certain.” His eyes passed over the kid’s face; their brilliant blue clouded with inner-memory. “Father’s should love their sons.”

Robert opened his mouth to retort when something in the depths of the detective’s gaze struck a common cord, quelled the sarcasm. Bewildered by his reaction to the man, the kid sat in momentary silence and eyed Knight. He seemed like a typical, uppity, holier-than-thou cop in fancy duds, black jeans that were probably professionally laundered and pressed, red silk shirt….

And yet.

Something in the eyes.

Blue. Intense. Vulnerable?

“You do know what it’s like…don’t you?” The words fell from his lips.

Nick gave a start and looked away.

“Your old man, he wasn’t so hot, was he?”

“I’m not the focus of this investigation, Mister Jenson.” He fixed stern eyes on the youth.

“Yeah, right.” A smile tempted the corner of the kid’s mouth. He knew a mark when he hit one. “Did he knock you around, fancy guy like you? Mess up that pretty face of yours a time or two?”

“That’s enough, Jenson,” Vetter snapped. She didn’t like the turn of events or the expression that crossed her partner’s face, a look she’d never seen before.

“It’s all right.” Knight held up a restraining hand.

“Yeah. It’s all right,” Jenson quipped. “He can take it like a man. Isn’t that what your old man told ya when he was giving it to ya?”

Expression drained from the detective’s face. “Is that what your old man told *you?*”

The kid swallowed.

“We’re waiting, Robert.”

He searched the detective’s face, and suddenly felt himself pulled into the depths of his eyes. He breathed, “Did you ever want the bastard *dead?*”

*Yes*

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Nick knew that feeling only too well. 

Was it possible that Robert and his cohorts had summoned the demon in the hopes that it could be ordered to remove Jenson Senior from his life? It was a chilling thought, but it made sense. If the kid felt trapped, desperation often produced rash decisions. The demon, of course, proved to be more than the group of young people could handle. Was that when Robert resorted to a more conventional method of dealing with his problem?

Knight knew what it was like to feel desperate and trapped by someone he should have been able to trust….

Wesley knew that feeling, as well…

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“A sister. I believe you mentioned a sister.” Knight consulted his report as a mere formality. “A one Linda Marie Jenson?”

The kid gave a start. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Let us be the judge of that.” Knight sensed the point of vulnerability and pounced, pressed his face within inches of the youth’s. “We couldn’t locate her at the diner where she works.”

“She’s up in Vancouver vistin’ our aunt, my mom’s sister. She’s got nothing to do with this,” he insisted.

“Are you and your sister close?”

The young man avoided his eyes. “Yeah, what of it?”

“She’s all you’ve got, yes?”

He swallowed and nodded.

“The two of you against the world and all that?”

He gave a stiff nod. “What of it?”

“You’d do anything for your sister, wouldn’t you,” Knight pressed.

“Wouldn’t you?” He turned his seething gaze on the detective. “If you had a sister.”

“I suppose I would.”

“You have a sister?”

Nick though for a moment, and a beguiling image of a lovely blue-eyed blonde wafted into his mind from centuries past. Fleur. He nodded. “I suppose you could say that I do.”

A frown creased the kid’s brow. “That’s a funny way to put it. Love her?”

“Eternally,” he breathed.

“Yeah.” A smile softened the young man’s face as his thoughts turned inward. “I like that, *eternally.* That’s how it is with Linda and me. She’s the sun, the moon, and the stars. Eternally. I’ll tell her that next time I see her.”

“Did your old man ever hit Linda?”

Pulled from his reverie, Robert gave a start. “Hell no!” His face twisted with anger. “I’d of killed the bastard if he ever laid a…” He pulled in his breath.

“Yes?”

“He wouldn’t dare,” he rasped.

“Are you certain of that?” Knight glanced over the sheets in his hand. “In the last month, alone, her coworkers reported seeing no less than three prominent bruises--”

“On Linda!” The youth interrupted. “When? Where?”

“On may 2, May 21--”

“I’ll kill the bastard,” he spat in outrage.

“He’s already dead.” Knight locked his eyes on the youth. Pinned him.

“He swore he wouldn’t touch her. He *swore.*”

“He lied, didn’t he, Robert?” Nick’s voice dropped to a soothing whisper. “He *always* lied.”

“Bastard!”

“And when you trusted him the most. That’s when the deception was the deepest…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

*1787*

//“*Il a été comme un père à moi*” Nicholas breathed as his hands passed reverently over the piano’s luster.

“And you, like a son,” Frau von Wilhelm pressed her lips against his ear, lightly kissed. “Not a day passed that *Herr* LaCroix did not speak of his *wunderkind* to me.”

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Nicholas.” LaCroix reentered the room, a glass in hand; he presented it with a flourish to the lady. “You really must play for Genevieve, so that she’ll know I haven’t exaggerated your considerable talents.”

His eyes widened. “You spoke of my playing?”

“Your composing, as well.” LaCroix swept his hand over the piano. “Play.”

A grin brightened his face and with boyish enthusiasm he reclaimed the bench.

“A minuet, if you will.” Genevieve presented a perfumed and powdered hand to the regal gentleman at her side. “*Darf ich um diesen Tanz bitten?* If you please, *Herr* LaCroix.”

He offered her a bow, accepted her slender hand and escorted her to the center of the drawing room.

Nicholas’ fingers fell effortlessly into a lively minuet. His eyes closed in ecstasy and his heart soared. Vienna! His hands danced over the keys. Mozart!

“For you, *mien* innocent tart…” Her lips were suddenly pressed against his ear, and he gave a start. “We shall attend a performance of *Herr* Mozart’s, The Marriage of Figaro. So delicious!” Her eyes twinkled with mischief and she pressed her considerable bosom into his back. Her fingers fluttered to the ruffles at his throat, slipped beneath to the cool expanse of chest, pinched his nipple.

He startled in surprise.

“My son shall simply adore you!” she exclaimed.

Words escaped his lips…

“Ever the matchmaker,” LaCroix interjected smoothly. “Unfortunately for your son, *mon* Nicholas possesses a soft spot for the ladies, and he exhibits not inconsiderable talent with regard to such.”

“No matter,” Genevieve shrugged and once again accepted the hand LaCroix offered. “My daughters, then.”

Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief.

Her laughter rippled through the air and he found himself enchanted, if not by her boldness, by her undaunted enthusiasm for life. His playing embraced the buoyancy of her charm as tune after tune rose from his heart into his hands.

The night grew deep and still they danced. Wine flowed, crimson in the candle’s glow. His senses soared. Such eternal bliss! The music, its celestial sound. Her laughter. Her wine-kissed lips when she twirled in a sweep of cascading skirts from LaCroix’s embrace, joined Nicholas on the bench while he played, pressed those lips to his mouth.

Could Vienna be so grand!

Laughter rumbled from his chest and he buried his cheek, unbidden, into the plunge of her gown, to the warmth of her breasts.

She squealed with delight, broke free and returned to LaCroix’s awaiting arms to be crushed into an impassioned embraced. “Such vigor!” She clutched her breast. “You steal my breath. Two such delicious creatures in the same room, what more could a woman desire?

“What more, indeed?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief and lit upon Nicholas at the piano, elegant in a coat of red-velvet defining the slender lines of his form; candlelight caught the corn silk of his hair that fell in waves over the ruffles of his collar. Genevieve grinned. “Perhaps we should try this little thing you French are so very fond of, how do you say it,” she winked, “*Ménage à trios?*”

LaCroix laughed deeply in response. “Mon Nicholas shall play for us tonight, *chère,* no more. He is…*timide.*”

She chuckled gaily and dipped her chin in false modesty. “*Un puceau?*”

“*Nein*”

With a grin, she folded into his awaiting arms and began their dance anew.

Their repartee rose around him and Nicholas closed his eyes, allowed the music to claim him. Waves of passion, pure unbridled sound, soared to heights his soul had not imagined…

Vienna. *Clair de lune* glistening upon the Danube. Chamber music, night upon glorious night, stringed ensembles composed by the Master, accompanied by harpsichord. Perfumed and coiffured ladies draped in finest silk, daily-bled, *le dernier cri* of modern chic, such ironic fetish! Their skin as pale as death’s whisper, their hearts enthralled by music the gods, alone, ordained. “*These mortals bleed themselves, Nicholas.*” His mind could hear LaCroix declare in laudatory homage, “*Give us this day our daily-bled!*”

Genevieve’s laughter, like the sound of crystal bells, whispered past his ear as he played, eyes closed. Grew louder.

“*Herr LaCroix!*”

Something jostled into his back and his eyes flew open, his playing disrupted.

Entwined in LaCroix’s embrace, Genevieve laughed, giddy with wine-filled passion, and swooned as the master vampire folded her into the sway of Nicholas’ back, kissed her lips, her jaw, her throat.

The young vampire froze.

“*Play.*”

His hands were poised above the keys. Immobile. Useless.

Her laughter rippled over his senses. Chilled him to the bone. Pressed against his back, she responded with ardor to LaCroix’s advances. Her warmth, her impassioned blood-scent, enveloped Nicholas and his head began to swim…

This must not happen!

“Play!” LaCroix rasped against his ear.

His heart rose to his throat, choked him.

The ancient vampire grabbed his hair, jerked back his head and held him immobile with a grip the younger vampire could never hope to break. “*I said play.*”

Genevieve’s laughter filled the air. “Play, *mein* sweet; ‘tis but a game.”

*You don’t understand!* The words fought to free themselves from his lips, failed.

LaCroix’s grip on his hair tightened; the pain became unbearable. “*Do it.*”

His hands responded of their own accord, raced over the keys. The music wafted into the air as reality folded into itself.

“*Dum vivimus vivamus!*” LaCroix chuckled deep in his throat and seized the woman who surrendered in a cascade of silk and satin to his cool embrace. “*While we live, let us live!*”

Her laughter rippled past his ear, mingled with the sounds of their impassioned play as LaCroix crushed her with his kisses into the velvet of Nicholas’ back.

“No more exquisite mattress could a woman desire than this.” She entwined her fingers into the locks of Nicholas’ hair as he played on in a mindless haze. “You shall grow accustomed to such court dalliances, innocent child.”

His thoughts fled into the sanctuary of inner-self and his eyes grew dim, focused on nothing.

The music. Only the music. Such sweet ephemeral bliss…

Impassioned moans threatened the vestiges of sanity, pulled him under. The warmth of her mortality burned into his back, stirred the beast. The sounds of their heated passion pressed against his body…

Play.

He squeezed his eyes shut till only the music remained.//


	10. 10/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*2002*

 

“You don’t understand what it was like for us!”

“Try me, Jenson.”

The kid dropped his eyes from Knight’s probing stare. “There was nowhere for us to go, no one to turn to. And don’t give me that crap about Social Services.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“He wouldn’t leave her alone, his own *goddamned* daughter…”

The kid’s voice broke and Detective Vetter moved in from the sidelines for the kill. “We’re supposed to crumble over this sob story? Tell us the truth, Jenson.”

His eyes cut her with rancor. “It was wrong, the way he was doing her. We were his kids for god’s sake, not his slaves. He had no right.” He started to bolt from the chair.

“Easy.” Nick touched the boy’s arm.

“You don’t know! The demon! The power was supposed to make everything better. To make him go *away.*”

“I know more than you think I do. There are many forms of abuse, and they aren’t all physical.” His voice fell to a soothing whisper. “Look at me, Robert.” The youth raised his eyes, red-rimmed and dark with pain, something in their depths stirred Nick’s soul. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To believe there’s no way out.”

“How can you unless you’ve been there? Unless you’ve watched someone you care about being hurt!”

Knight swallowed and softly confessed. “I have.”

The boy pulled in his breath and silence fell between them. Their eyes met. Robert broke the hush. “You have…haven’t you?”

The detective nodded.

“Life sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes.”

The youth squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. “I killed him.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Slick, Nick.” Vetter grimaced at her own pun as the exited the interrogation room. “That was real slick work in there. Especially the part about hating your father. You almost had me going for a second.”

Her partner’s eyes were focused on a point beyond the moment and he didn’t respond.

“Nick?”

He moved past her without a word.

“That English guy’s waiting for you. Pryce, is it? He looks like crap. What’ve you guys been up to, anyway? Demon hunting?” She chuckled at her own joke. “Looking for Jenson’s demon?”

Knight caught sight of Wesley lingering by the exit. He looked battered and worn; his bruised eye appeared swollen to Nick from across the room as their gazes met. A touch of a smile tipped the corner of the Englishman’s lips and Nick returned it.

“I knew the kid was guilty from the moment he sat down.” She followed him. “How could anyone kill their own father? It’s…*unnatural.*”

The word lingered in the air between them.

Knight paused, turned and met her eyes. He started to speak…

Night at the precinct continued around them.

A uniform officer jostled past, a suspect in tow. A scattering of sequin-clad “professional” ladies awaited booking. A derelict sat hunched on a bench. A pristine Public Defender slammed his palm onto a desk, demanded his client be released. And Wesley waited patiently by the exit…

The hubbub rose to claim the moment.

“Nick?”

He turned and walked away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*1786*

//The music of her laughter enveloped him, wove into the rhythm flowing from his soul into his hands. The warmth of her blood-scent beckoned, peeked…ebbed.

Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut.

The crush of satin and silk against his back, the sound…the *feeling* of their impassioned love-play as LaCroix crumpled a cascade of skirts to her waist, stroked against the length of her nimble form, buried his face into her throat as he thrust into her body…

A mist of spray dampened Nicholas’ cheek and his eyes flew wide.

He dared not touch his face.

Crimson in the candle’s flame, stark against his alabaster skin, he knew her essence painted his cheek. Darkness eclipsed his soul.

“*Have you no sense of compassion or love in your heart!*” 

“You would dare to speak to me of love, *mon enfant?*” Silken lips caressed his ear. “Once, centuries ago, the embers of my heart kindled to flame. Love? You stole it from me. Or don’t you remember?”

Nicholas trembled beneath the breath whispering across his flesh.

“Forced me to watch it wither and decay, cursed by the ravages of time. My sweetest flower. Do not speak to me of love. To love a mortal…” Cool lips brushed his neck as blood-scent filled the room. “…is to kill it.”

The music ebbed…

…and died.//

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*2002*

 

“I could use a drink,” Nick announced when they reached the loft and the heavy metal door of the lift slammed shut behind them. “Care for a beer?”

Wesley nodded and sank to the sofa as Nick went to the fridge, poured himself a glass of blood-laced wine and grabbed a beer. He returned to the sofa and plopped down next to Wes, handing him the can. Wesley acknowledged his thanks with an exhausted nod and popped open the top. 

“What I really need is a shower. I quite imagine I stink.”

Knight responded with a tired laugh and a deep sip of his wine. “I quite imagine you do.”

The corner of Wesley’s lip tipped up in a smile. “If that’s your none-too-subtle way of concurring that I’m committing an olfactory offense, then I shall be off,” he responded flippantly, but made no effort to rise. Instead, he yawned and his eyes began to droop. “On second thought, since this is my bed…”

“About that…” Knight began, then paused, uncertain of what he wanted to say and why. Then he plunged ahead. “There’s really no reason why you have to stay down here. This sofa isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep. The leather’s cold and you’re much too tall…” He wasn’t sure what he was offering this mortal…or why.

Wesley turned and met his gaze; his tired eyes held a question Nick wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. 

The events of the last few hours weighed heavy on Nick’s mind. The memories the interrogation evoked. The pain….

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone.

An awkward silence fell between them and the minutes slowly passed.

“Nick, I’m going to be blunt, if I may.” Wesley was the first to break the impasse and he leaned forward and sat his beer aside, resting his elbows on his knees. “What happened…today, between us. I never…” He drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never actually been involved in such a relationship before. A bit of one, you might say, or rather a single incident at school. More of an, after-lights-out exploration, sort of thing. Two guys fooling around in the dark, nothing serious.”

“Wes.” Nick closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “I’m not trying to push you into anything. Really I’m not. Tonight…I just. It’s hard to explain. I just don’t want to be alone.”

Wesley drew in his breath and held it. His eyes passed slowly over his companion’s face and he responded softly, “I understand. Do you want to talk about it?”

Knight solemnly shook his head. It would be far too difficult to explain. Even though he had no doubt that if anyone would understand, Wesley would. He thought of the scars marring the smooth soft skin of his back, and he knew the scars were laced across Wesley’s soul as well as his flesh. Yes, he would certainly understand. But Nicholas couldn’t find the words to tell him of the past he’d lived, the lives senselessly lost over the centuries….

He thought of the lovely and beguiling Genevieve von Wilhelm, who he knew for but a brief moment of time and her pointless death…

LaCroix’s betrayal when he trusted him the most.

His heart clinched in pain and he reached out and laid his palm on Wesley’s slender hand resting on his knee, weaved their fingers together and gazed into the mortal’s tired eyes, behind the reflection of his glasses.

The language of pain was universal.

Wesley understood.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I can’t have sex with a mortal.”

There. He said it. It was blunt but honest. 

For hours, Nick laid against the scorching warmth of the human’s back. Pressed as close as possible. Relishing the smooth pale lines of his bare skin beneath his cheek. He couldn’t remember the last time he experienced the luxury of sharing his bed with the heat of a living, breathing mortal and Wesley didn’t seem to mind the cool vampire pressed against him.

For the first few hours, Wesley slept, deeply and without dreams, his lean body draped in Nick’s satin sheets. Knight took the liberty of pushing them down to pool around the man’s waist, so he could rest against the curve of naked flesh, thankful that his companion chose to sleep with only the drawstring bottom half of the pajamas Nick lent him. The warmth was overwhelming and the scent…

Intoxicating.

Wesley slept without a sound, untroubled by the nightmares that usually plagued him and Nick found himself dosing despite his own troubled thoughts.

Then the mortal stirred…

The vampire could sense the arousal flowing off him in waves. Nick opened his eyes; his cheek pressed against the man’s smooth shoulder and fell into a pair of gray-blue eyes that were studying him without blinking. Nick reached across and rested his fingertips against the slightly bruised cheek, softly stroked the delicate flesh. Wesley’s eyes closed and he sighed.

“I can’t have sex with a mortal.”

Wesley looked surprised.

“I lack the control,” Nick continued bluntly. “I know that it’s possible or so I’ve been told. Janette told me that she was able to achieve a normal relationship with the man she fell in love with. A sip at a time when they made love, that’s what she told me. But I don’t trust myself, Wesley…I’m sorry, but I just don’t trust…”

He touched his fingers to the vampire’s lips. “It’s alright.” 

Nick wrapped his arms around his companion’s waist, slipped beneath the satin sheets and pressed his palm against the evidence of Wesley’s arousal. The man shuddered with pleasure but stilled Nick’s touch.

“It’s alright,” he repeated and started to pull away. 

“There’s no reason why--”

“I was rather hoping to try something I’ve always been a bit curious about. But it’s not important.” 

“Tell me.” Nick pressed tightly to his companion’s inviting back.

Wesley chuckled softly and shook his head. “I wanted to feel you…inside me. But it’s not important.”

Nick pulled an unneeded breath deep into his lungs and held it. Just the thought of burying himself in the scorching heat of the mortal’s lean, muscular body sent a rush of blood to his groin, but the familiar ache of need along his jaw rose to remind him that his cock wasn’t the only part of him involved in a vampire’s arousal….

God he wanted this man. Warm. Willing. Inviting him to enter.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed when an idea occurred to him and he almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought. Did he dare mention such a thing? Wesley might bolt from his bed or even his apartment….

“You could always chain me.”

Wesley’s eyes lit with interest….


	11. 11/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

An entire bottle of blood filled his veins. The vampire gorged himself to help satiate his lust for the ambrosia that surged through Wesley’s heart, pulsing beneath the pale skin of his throat along the jagged scar that Nick longed to caress with his lips, pierce with his teeth.

Handcuffed firmly to the posts of his bed, the added strength of a chain secured to the frame and wrapped around his chest, Nick knew that Wesley was only too aware of the fact that the vampire’s self-control would still be a vital factor in this attempt. Nick offered his companion a wooden stake and was pleased when the ex-watcher didn’t protest, but carefully laid it within arm’s length at the edge of the mattress.

Wesley was nothing if not practical.

The vampire was impressed.

If this actually worked, despite the almost embarrassing logistics of the situation, it would be a breakthrough unprecedented in Nicholas’ long, lonely life. The first step toward achieving what Janette had been able to achieve. True intimacy with a mortal.

If this could be considered intimacy.

Wesley leaned down and pressed his lips to the vampire’s mouth in a deep probing kiss, his tongue seeking entrance, and all doubts vanished for Nick. It was intimacy. Twisted. Unconventional. Kinky. But intimacy nonetheless. 

His cheeks flushed with color from the blood he gorged on, Nick knew he would have no difficulty achieving an erection when Wesley’s lips devoured his and the wondrous blood-scent of the human’s arousal surrounded him. He felt himself grow hard.

“Wes,” he rasped against the man’s suddenly insatiable mouth as Wesley pressed his mouth to his again and again and he felt the throb of his fangs pushing toward the surface. “I don’t want to alarm…”

Wesley pulled back and a smile touched his lips now bruised red. He pressed his hand to the vampire’s cheek and fixed his eyes on Nick’s mouth with rapt attention. “You’re aroused, aren’t you? It’s part of your unique sexuality, isn’t it?”

“Ever the Watcher,” he hissed as he felt the beast struggling to rise to the surface. 

Wesley surprised him by pressing his fingers to Nick’s mouth and gently slipping them between his lips to touch the sensitive gums where the fangs were aching to descend. He leaned near, nibbled on the full, bottom lip as he began to move his fingers along the throbbing gums.

Nicholas gasped in astonishment as a wave of pleasure washed through him and he moaned when Wesley began to massage the flesh with firm steady strokes, encouraging the fangs to grow erect. The vampire shuddered and trembled with desire; unable to believe this was happening. No mortal had ever touched him this way. 

Wesley again leaned near and pressed his mouth to Nick’s, slipped his tongue inside and began to stroke the growing incisors with his tongue. The vampire cried out and strained against the chains to reach his companion. It was unbelievable. He never dreamed Wesley would want to touch him like this. The heat of his mouth, the stroke of his moist, warm tongue….

Nicholas felt his groin twitch to life and continue to harden in rhythm to the caress of the man’s magnificent tongue. His hips thrust upward and Wesley’s lips trembled with laughter against his mouth at the vampire’s all-too-human response.

“You’re incredible, Watcher,” he rasped. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Actually…no. You’re the first.” He pulled back and stared into the vampire’s eyes, watching the swirl of amber that was rising to the surface of the blue with enraptured fascination. “I suppose this shall be a first in more ways than one.”

“A first,” Nick breathed in awe. Was this really possible? Wesley was no fool; he knew that given enough incentive, the vampire could break free. The chains would help him maintain control, but it would take a determination deep within him to truly control the beast. His desire to possess Wesley fully was overwhelming. The heat, the scent of male arousal was almost more than he could stand. But his desire to protect the mortal was even stronger….

At least he hoped it was.

Wesley’s eyes fell to the pale, porcelain shaft straining against Nick’s stomach, almost as eager to get to the man’s lean, enticing body as the vampire’s fangs were to sink into his throat. The reaction surprised but pleased Nick. He wasn’t certain he would desire Wes in such a human way. He feared the beast within him would override any other impulse.

Wes grinned, and the expression seemed out of place on a face that seldom expressed more than a soft, occasional smile.

Nick returned the grin and his eyes fell to the bulge pressing insistently against the satin pajamas Wesley still wore. Without a word, the ex-watcher slipped them off his long legs and they drifted to the floor to pool with the sheets that already slid from the bed into a satiny puddle beside the bed. Wesley’s cock bobbed free, anxious and swollen with glorious blood. Nick’s eyes locked on it with greedy lust, wanting nothing more than to sink his fangs into the artery pulsing with blood and drinking the human dry….

He tore his thoughts away from the pictures of crimson delight painted in his mind, and replaced them with images of thrusting deep into the hot, inviting entrance between the round firm cheeks of his ass…

Surprisingly, the lust-filled images of Wesley submitting to his cock’s penetration succeeded in pulling his thoughts from the allure of the blood and to the smooth, white image of the beautiful man kneeling beside him, his own cock gorged and begging for release.

“You alright, Nick?” Wesley’s eyes said that he understood just how difficult this was for the vampire. “We can stop…”

“Hell no!” he gasped and jerked against the chains. “I want you, Wes…any way I can get you.”

A smile weaved over his lips and the Watcher reached across Nick’s body and grabbed his cock. The heat of the human’s hand and the steady stroke as he began to pump caused him to drop his head against the headboard and moan. “Yes…”

Wesley straddled his body and knelt, the warmth of his balls lightly brushing against Nick’s cool, smooth chest. He strained against the restraints, longing to break free, to wrap his arms around the man, crush him closer to his chest and fully absorb that glorious heat of mortal flesh. “God, Wes, would you please stop teasing me.”

Wesley looked confused.

“Put your full weight on me. I want to feel your balls against me.”

He seemed surprised, but quickly obliged, resting his entire weight on the vampire’s body and avoiding the chains securing his upper torso to the bed, he crushed himself against the vampire’s cold, porcelain flesh. Nick sighed and closed his eyes. He wanted this man, and he felt his eyes grow golden with desire. Wesley arched his hips and stroked his erection against his companion’s chest, his own eyes squeezed shut with pleasure at the cool, smooth stroke of marble-like skin against his balls. He reached behind and began to pump Nick’s straining cock and the vampire was pleased by his body’s response to the human’s touch. 

He wanted this man. Not just his blood that called to the beast, taunting, begging, but his body, the tight, inviting, virgin entrance to his body, to be precise.

“I want to fuck you, Watcher.” He heard himself say.

Wesley’s eyes opened with surprise and he smiled. “Really now, do you?”

“Fuck. Shag. Whatever you people call it. I want you,” he growled, pulling at the chains.

“Buggering is a much more proper description, I’d say.” He settled back on the vampire’s chest as if preparing to have a polite and lengthy discussion concerning the topic, heedless of his own neglected erection jutting upward against his flat, firm stomach. “Illegal in most places, if I’m not mistaken. Although, I’ve no doubt, being an officer of the law, you’re much better acquainted with the legislation governing such issues in this country. I know you wouldn’t want to violate--”

“*Damnit, Wes!*” The words tore from his throat and he lunged against his restraints. He never would have guessed the staid ex-watcher possessed such a perverse sense of the absurd. “It’s not wise to tease a *vampire.*”

“Really?” He grinned, then reached behind and seized the cock straining toward him. He started to firmly stroke the cool, smooth shaft and Nick began to moan in rhythm to his touch. “It’s always mystified me how vampires are able to achieve an erection without benefit of a proper circulatory system. But then again, there is that old adage concerning gift horses.” He slightly rose up; leaned forward then gently settled back, lightly pressing the tip between the cheeks of his ass. Carefully stroking it along the length of the crease and finally coming to rest against the entrance to his body. His eyelids fluttered and closed over the slightly dazed blue of his eyes as he pressed the cock to his hole, but didn’t enter.

Nicholas froze, mesmerized by the sight of his companion’s face and the rush of warmth that flushed his groin at the gentle contact with the human’s flesh. He began to tremble beneath Wesley’s touch.

Wesley’s eyes squeezed shut and the man slowly, carefully, pressed Nick’s cock against his entrance, tantalizing himself with the cool, hard shaft, but not trying to push inside. Nicholas shuddered and bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. He wanted to thrust. To bite. To scream. The human’s blood-scent and arousal rushed over him, tearing at the last of his control. But the vampire reached deep within and found strength he never knew he possessed. Strength built on the burning desire to protect this mortal who entrusted himself to the vampire’s lust. Offering him the gift of trust and the beauty of his magnificent body.

Knight’s eyes washed over the firm, thin lines of the pale body carefully poised above him. Wesley’s eyes were squeezed shut with concentration; his square, dimpled jaw held rigid with exertion and a hint of sweat glistened across his brow. Wesley wanted this. Nick could smell his arousal. See the man’s shaft throbbing against his stomach. But they had to take this slowly….

Wes opened his eyes, took a deep breath and gave Nick an almost timid smile as he reached over and retrieved a tube from the mattress. He leaned forward and Nick could feel the cool touch of lube coating his shaft. Wesley tossed the container aside and grasping Nick’s cock, again pressed it between the cheeks of his ass. Nick resisted the urge to push and drew a breath he didn’t really need. Held it. Wesley began to slowly lower himself… 

And froze.

“Damn, that hurts.” He began to tremble and fought to catch his breath.

“You don’t have to do this, Wes.” Nicholas hissed in frustration at the unbelievable heat surging through his body at even this light penetration into the ex-watcher’s incredibly tight shaft. He began to tremble as violently as his partner, fighting with every ounce of strength he had left not to thrust and damage or harm his friend. But god he wanted to penetrate that ass for all he was worth.

Wesley drew a deep breath and held it. “I knew it would hurt. But no one ever said it would feel like someone stabbed a burning stake up your spine.”

Nicholas began to chuckle in spite of the absurdity of the situation. A vampire handcuffed and chained to a bed, a beguiling, naked ex-watcher partially impaled on his cock, talking about burning stakes. “Wes, you don’t have to do this.” He hoped he sounded convincing.

Wesley began to giggle and the mirth was infectious. Nicholas caught it and they both began to laugh. The only thing more ludicrous would be for Natalie or LaCroix to come sauntering in and find the two men tangled in such a mess. Janette, on the other hand, would only beg to join them. 

Wesley caught his breath, gave his companion a wide grin and sank a bit deeper on the shaft. 

Nicholas moaned and this time he did thrust, but only slightly as he felt his fangs throb and the tight entrance squeeze around him. This was such exquisite torture. Could this beautiful mortal truly be so innocently unaware of the effect he was having on his companion? 

With a deep breath, Wesley swallowed hard and slammed down, driving Nick’s cock all the way home and hitting his prostate. His eyes flew wide in surprise and he cried out, clearly not expecting the flood of sensations that overwhelmed him at the impact. Catching his breath, he leaned forward on his forearms then slammed down again, his earlier misgivings totally forgotten in the thrill of this wondrous new discovery.

The burning fire of the man’s body clasped around his cock drove Nicholas into a frenzy. No longer afraid of hurting his companion, Nick thrust into the warm, willing body with all his strength, momentarily jarring Wesley before he was able to fall into the rhythm, rocking back onto the cool, marble erection and tilting his hips to hit the tip to his prostate.

“I never dreamed,” Wesley rasped, barely able to catch his breath, rising up and slamming down again, his own erection growing harder with each thrust. “I never, never dreamed…”

The vampire struggled against the restraints, the blood-scent mocking the beast as he shoved himself into the man’s warm, firm ass. But Nick was astonished by his ability to keep the beast at bay enough to prevent himself from actually breaking the chains and seizing the man, draining him dry….

He thrust into Wesley’s body, again and again, relishing the guttural sounds emanating from the man, the cries that tore from his throat. He tilted his hips, shoved and stuck the soft, warm nub deep inside his companion who screamed out the vampire’s name. The sound of his name screamed in the torrent of such ecstasy made Nick aware of the unbelievable pressure building in his own groin. Was it possible he was actually going to come? He hadn’t even considered the possibility.

Wesley slammed down onto him, sweat pouring from his brow. His face tightened with exertion and his breath grew ragged as he drew closer to his release. His cock stood out hard and throbbing from his body and Nick wanted to break the chains that bound him, if only to grasp that cock in his hand and stroke it to completion.

“Wes,” the name tore from his lips, and the watcher opened his pale, glazed eyes and focused them on the vampire’s face. “I can’t…I’m sorry.” His attention fell to his friend’s erection. “If I wasn’t chained.”

Wesley offered him a trembling smile and continued to rise up and rock back down hard on the vampire’s shaft, his entire body quaking. He reached forward and wrapped his long, elegant fingers around his own member and began to stroke in rhythm to his thrusts.

Nicholas gasped in surprise at the sight of the ex-watcher’s burning body impaled on his, his hand frantically pumping himself to orgasm. He wasn’t expecting this glorious sight, and the unbelievable image of Wesley pleasuring himself was more than he could stand.

He roared and his head slammed back against the headboard as he shot his cool seed into the mortal’s searing, tight flesh…

Just as the handcuff shattered and broke free from the bed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Wesley saw the chain fly loose as the vampire’s hand lunged for his neck. It clamped down hard on his throat and he shuddered, fought for breath…

And came in a wave of ecstasy unlike anything he ever felt before, almost losing consciousness.

Struggling to gain his senses, the ex-watcher rolled up onto his knees, grabbed the stake on the edge of the bed, heart pounding in his ears and pressed it to his lover’s chest…

Nick’s eyes met his.

They were clear, bright blue without a hint of amber in their depths, and his hand fell away from Wesley’s throat.

The stake dropped from Wesley’s fist and still gasping for breath, his heart racing, he collapsed against his companion’s chest…

Nicholas infolded the precious mortal into his embrace.


	12. 12/12

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Entwined beneath the satin sheets, Nick held the slender body of his companion close and watched him sleep, his face serenely innocent in the room’s pale light. 

Trust.

In spite of the knowledge he possessed as a Watcher, Wesley trusted him with his very life. Even now he lay sleeping in the arms of a predator without a care.

Knight struggled to join him in sleep but the past kept nipping at the corners of his mind, rising up to haunt him. Though he pressed close to his companion, wrapped in the mortal’s warmth, he couldn’t hold the memories at bay….

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

*1786* 

//Laughter whispered over his senses. The tinkling of silver bells entwined with the music that rippled through the drawing room.

Vienna.

LaCroix promised him Vienna and the dreams of a lifetime. Frau von Wilhelm, full of life, and wine-laced kisses. Bubbling with exuberance…

Her scarlet essence, bleeding down the red velvet of his jacket. Splattered across the pristine ruffle of his collar…

The world was dark and empty.

“Why, LaCroix! It was without meaning or purpose.”

“It is what we do, *mon enfant.*” Cool lips caressed the alabaster marble of his cheek. “It is what we *are*….”

“NO!”

“To love a mortal…” He slipped a long, elegant hand against the young vampire’s throat. “…is to kill it.”

The music ebbed….

…and died.//

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*2002* 

 

“What madness is this!”

Nick’s eyes flew wide and he scrambled to sit up in his bed as he stared toward the open window, curtains billowing in the breeze. 

LaCroix stood framed against the night, a foreboding specter, his eyes locked on the man sleeping in Knight’s bed.

“Get out,” he hissed and instinctively drew the mortal into his protective embrace, holding him close.

“So that you may persist with this foolishness?” LaCroix breached the distance of the room in an instant and glared down at the ex-watcher reposed in peaceful slumber at Nicholas’ side. “Drain him and be done with it.”

“I shall not!”

“It seems you’ve found a new plaything, Mon Nicholas.” The Master Vampire drifted closer. “It would be amusing if it weren’t so pathetic.”

“Leave,” he hissed, holding tightly to the man pressed against him in the darkness, clinging to the sound of the soft rise and fall of his breath. 

“A Watcher, no less.” His eyes caressed Wesley’s serene form. “His blood is pure mead. As you’ve no doubt discovered for yourself.” The stately vampire leaned near and deeply inhaled the fragrance of the man sleeping soundly, oblivious to the danger around him.

“I said, get out!” Nick would have leaped from the bed and attacked the master vampire but he knew his efforts would be wasted and he couldn’t bring himself to release his hold on his vulnerable mortal lover. 

“Blood calls to blood.” LaCroix whispered softly. “You sensed the power surging through him from the moment you discovered him, didn’t you?”

“He’s from a long line of watchers--”

LaCroix chuckled, interrupting him. “He is, indeed. A very long, long line of *watchers.*” 

The tone of his voice confused Nick and his frown deepened. He didn’t like the way his sire was devouring the man with his eyes. “I want you to leave NOW. This is none of your affair.”

“All that you are and ever shall be *is* my affair.” A chilling calm passed over his features and he stood, an alabaster statue in the dim. “And as for *this one*…” His eyes slowly possessed Wesley’s peaceful form. “You owe him to *me.*”

A chill cut down his spine. “Go to hell!”

“Hell?” LaCroix responded with cool, unnerving laughter that drifted quietly though the room. “I’ve known the burning scorch of love’s flame as it licks and sears the heart, leaving it burnt to cinders. If that is not Hell then no such place exists.”

“What are you babbling about,” he hissed beneath his breath. “You know nothing of love. Nothing of what I feel for Wesley. What we shared here…tonight.”

“Love? Is that what you would deem this to be?”

“I…I don’t know what I feel. But it’s deep and it’s strong and I would never harm him.” He swallowed hard. “We were…together in a way I never dreamed possible. In a way you said could never be, as two mortal lovers.”

“And you’re proud of this little act of rebellion you’ve managed to perform with this mortal? Some would deem it *dégradant.*”

“There was nothing degrading in our intimacy,” he hissed in rage. 

“Foolish. Foolish Nicholas. It is the blood that calls to you. Always. Nothing more. But this one.” He reached out with a long, slender hand as if to touch Wesley but Nick’s dark glare gave him reason to pause. “You owe him to me, Nicholas. For centuries you’ve owed me this. It’s time to pay your debt.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re rambling about.” His heart rose into his throat at the possessive way LaCroix was eying his mortal lover. “I won’t let you harm him. You’ll have to destroy me first.”

“You traded the future for the past, long ago.” The Master vampire slowly shook his head. “You really don’t know do you? The blood calls to you…it beckons to something deep within your soul and you truly don’t understand what it is that you feel.”

“Stop talking in riddles!” He snapped in frustration. 

“It is *her.*” he hissed. “Don’t you feel her? Can’t you sense her presence in every breath you inhale of his essence? Taste her in the ambrosia of his blood? See her in his eyes! In his lust for knowledge? Her descendants have been watching us for centuries, obsessed with us for good reason…”

“Tell me what you’re talking about!!!”

“Fleur,” he breathed the name with quiet reverence into the sudden silence of the room.

Nicholas gasped in alarm and turned to look at the sublime form of the mortal in his arms, his warmth pressed against him in the suffocating quiet of the room. His eyes swept over the lines of Wesley’s body, pale in the moon’s glow, and he wanted to argue, to fervently dispute LaCroix’s claims. But with a sudden cold certainty, he knew his argument would be in vain. The pained expression etched into the ancient vampire’s face was testament enough to the truth of his words. The younger vampire could taste it, sense it burning through his veins. 

Fleur!

“You stole her from me. *Ma fleur plus douce,*” LaCroix whispered. “The only woman I ever loved. Denied me the right to offer her eternal life.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and crushed Wesley into the protective circle of his embrace. “I won’t let you take him. I won’t let you drain him…or bring him across.”

Visions of a pair of young, wide blue eyes, watching him in horror from the shadows as he drained the life of his mortal victims, filled the vampire with remorse.

Andre. Fleur’s son. 

Wesley was descended from Andre. Of course! It all made perfect sense. Sick. Twisted. Morbid. Sense. No wonder the blood called to him. After what the child had witnessed, it was little wonder Andre’s descendents became Watchers. Hunting and killing his kind. He could see Fleur in Wesley’s eyes. In his insatiable lust for knowledge…

*I hunger for knowledge.* Fleur’s words whispered through the corridors of time, weaving into Nick’s heart. His precious, beloved Fleur.

“You sentenced her to death and decay. The ravages of time laying waste the bloom of her youth.” LaCroix intoned. “When I would have offered her the gift of life, everlasting. I foolishly consented to your pleas and lost the only woman I shall ever love.”

“I won’t let you drain him,” he hissed.

“I won’t have to drain him.” The master vampire continued. “Although, by all rights, even you cannot deny you owe him to me. The blood that flows though his veins beckons to you because it is your own blood. The blood of *de Brabant.* On his mother’s side. His father was jealous of the power that surged through him. He sought to destroy it, to purge it from his son, because he couldn’t possess or understand it. He was a fool. But just as your powerful blood called to me all those centuries ago and Fleur’s fiery essence stirred the ancient cinders of my soul, *his* will summon the beast within you. I won’t have to devour him or bring him across. Given enough time…you’ll do it for me.”

“Never!”

LaCroix chuckled softly and backed toward the open window, his marble face a composed picture of false serenity in the dim. “You won’t be able to stop yourself, *mon enfant.* Blood calls to blood.”

“I won’t!”

“Until then, *au revoir.*” He slipped toward the window and started to fade from the room, the last of his words fading with him. “You can be proud of your achievement this night, Nicholas, such delicious degradation. Generations removed…” His laughter echoed in his wake, “…you’ve sodomized your nephew.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Nick!”

No response.

Wesley frowned and crossed the loft to where Nick sat poised immobile on the bench before the piano, no expression on his face.

“Nick, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He blinked but didn’t turn. “Just thinking, Wes.” His voice rose softly in the quiet of the room.

“Those are some pretty deep thoughts; you’re practically in another dimension. I’ve been buzzing forever to get up here. You were acting strange when I left this morning. The Jenson mess really has you troubled doesn’t it?”

Nick didn’t reply and silence reclaimed the moment. Light from the candelabra resting on the piano’s lacquered finish whispered over Knight’s eternally youthful face, accentuated its semblance of vulnerability. 

“Nick?” More than a little concerned, Wes slipped behind him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Nick stiffened beneath the touch. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“Sometimes words heal,” Wesley whispered.

“And sometimes they’re just words.”

Wesley caught his breath, weighed the moment and proceeded from a different angle. “The precinct called me this morning and asked me to come by. That’s why I went out. They located my bike, in one piece, no less. A pleasant surprise, I’d say.”

Knight was pleased by this revelation. “Miracles do happen, I suppose.”

“I’ll be able to stop freeloading off you soon.” He drew a deep breath and continued slowly. “I’ve been thinking about going back to L.A…. they need me there, whether they realize it or not. I rang one of my contacts in the states and it seems Angel’s gone missing.”

The words hung in the air between them, and Nick suddenly realized the watcher was waiting for a reply. Waiting for the least indication that Nick wanted him to stay…

Their future hung in the balance…

The vampire squeezed his eyes shut and refrained from comment. He knew this moment was coming. He was just selfish enough to wish it were further down the road. When the memories of the past weren’t so hauntingly close…

Whispering in the corners of his mind.

*To love a mortal is to kill it.*

LaCroix would never let this rest. 

*You traded the future for the past and the future has come. You owe me this one*…

Wesley would never be safe as long as he remained in Toronto.

“I’m not going to neglect my research,” Wesley’s voice rose to fill the silence, his decision made. “I’ll be searching for a prophecy concerning you. Trust me, I’ll let you know what I uncover.”

A deep sense of gratitude washed over him and Nick offered his friend a soft smile. “Thanks.” But what he wanted to shout was, *They don’t deserve you, Wes, and they never will. Stay with me.* 

He had to let the Watcher go before LaCroix’s impatience prompted him to claim the precious life he felt he was owed.

“Doctor Lambert informed me that the Day-Shift solved the Jenson case.” Wesley chose to change the topic.

“Excuse me?” He frowned in confusion and finally turned to fully meet his friend’s gaze. He could tell that the depth of crimson lacing the blue of his eyes gave Wesley a start, but the ex-watcher refrained from comment. “I thought we solved the Jenson case last night.”

“Things are seldom as simple as they seem. It appears, the boy was covering for his sister. She showed up this morning and confessed. She found my gun among her brother’s possessions and took matters into her own hands. The DA is pulling for self-defense.” He drew a deep sigh as if turning his thoughts inward. “I suppose one would do most anything for one’s sister.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut as a vision of Fluer whispered across his memory. He nodded then looked away.

Wesley’s eyes fell to the vampire’s hands resting lightly on the ivory keys. “Nick, I--”

“Wes…” He began then paused as if reluctant to continue.

The ex-watcher permitted the eloquence of unhurried silence to fall around them and patiently waited as the minutes slowly passed. 

“Could you do me a favor?” Nick broke the hush. “Even if is seems…. strange?”

“Always…my friend.”

His fingers began to flow over the keys and music filled the air, wove its poignancy into the moment. 

“You play delightfully,” he breathed. 

The whisper of a smile passed painfully across his lips. “Lie…against my back.”

A frown touched Wesley’s lips, but he folded gently into the sway of Nick’s back. Rested his cheek against his cool neck.

Nick sighed. Closed his eyes…

Till only the music remained.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

*1786*

 

//“Poor morose, Nicholas. Are you going to sit there eternally brooding?”

He blinked but didn’t turn at the sound of LaCroix’s voice.

“We must hurry.”

“Hurry?” He dared not move, to touch the moistness glistened across his fair cheek or contemplate the crimson droplets despoiling the pristine ruffles of his collar. “Why?”

“Our ship departs within the hour.”

“Ship?” The word echoed, distant to his ears. “To where?”

“Where else, mein wunderkind?” A hand fell to his shoulder; cool lips brushed his ear and breathed with depth of wonder, “Vienna!”//

 

The End


End file.
